Life's a Bed of Thorns: The Crescendo
by Sarah Rose Serena
Summary: Love is a double-edged blade. Desire burns. Obsession destroys. We all know this. Yet do we ever evade the trap? We know the VD trifecta sure won't be able to for long. But the real question is: Who will survive? And what will be left of them? E/D/S and more. Elena becomes a wolf.
1. A Devil's Deal

**Life's a Bed of Thorns - The Saga**

**Arc I - The Crescendo (Rise of The Wolf)**

_~ From SarahRoseSerena ~  
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_"Sleeping on a bed of thorns is bad for the soul. Elena knows this better than anyone. Ever since she woke up in a world she no longer recognized. A world darkened by night, lit by new moons, & dirtied by spilt blood. Love is a battlefield, alright. And every day, she gains one more scar. But what's a girl to do? When it's real, you just can't walk away."  
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_(Time Line: 0.9 - History Repeating. Warning: A Love Triangle Tale of Horror. That said, please enjoy yourself)  
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**Entry 1:**** A Devil's Deal**

Elena sat curled on the window seat in her bedroom, listening to the rhythm of Bonnie's breathing as the silvery light of the moon mingled with the pasty orange glow of the streetlamp and drifted in through the open drapes. She swiped the back of her hand over a caramel-hued cheek when the slow trickle of tears persisted.

Her sapphire diary rested—unused—on the windowsill beside her. She'd tried to write something down, anything, just to get something out of her, but she couldn't bring herself to form words of what she was feeling, what was happening. A meek sound of fear whimpered out past Bonnie's lips as she slept, and Elena turned to watch the way her eyes jumped and danced below their lids.

It'd been a rough night all around. And Elena just couldn't accept that it was over.

Stefan was leaving. He was leaving just as she was starting to come to terms with the whole "vampire" thing. She'd probably never see him again. Damon had attacked Bonnie, nearly killed her. Emily had destroyed the crystal, and with it Damon's only chance at getting Katherine back . . . or so Stefan had said. She still couldn't quite wrap her mind around it.

There was something else she couldn't help but wonder on though. If Stefan was leaving . . . did that mean Damon would soon have free reign in Mystic Falls? God knows what he'd do, how he'd terrorize them all once there was absolutely nothing at least _trying_ to keep him in check. Stefan wouldn't really just leave them to his brother's malicious mercy, would he?

Maybe that was why he was going. Maybe Damon was going with him.

"This can't be happening." She sighed, turning away from the window and moving carefully across the dark bedroom. In the doorway, she spared a glance over her shoulder at her resting friend before shutting the door behind her and heading downstairs to the kitchen. She needed a drink, desperately. Her throat had gone dry. And her stomach had gone nauseous.

Stefan couldn't leave. He just couldn't. It wasn't right. He shouldn't be able to just come to town and turn her world upside down, then bail out. It wasn't fair. A few months ago, Elena hadn't even _heard_ of the Salvatore brothers. Now, she couldn't consider her life without them in it. Without Damon here to torment her, and Stefan to protect her, she wouldn't know what to do with herself.

"Guess I'll find out," she muttered, pouring a glass of water, not bothering to switch on the light. She sipped and peered out into the dark shadows.

Nowadays, every shadow wasn't just darkness—it was potential cover for whatever bloodthirsty monster was lurking just beyond it, thinking about ripping her throat out. She couldn't seem to come to grips with it all. Despite that little detail, she couldn't accept the opportunity to go back to the way things were before, either though. _Before Vampires. Before the Salvatores._ As much as this new world scared her, she couldn't forget the fact that her life pretty much sucked before this. Yes, life sucked. Not that life wasn't sucking now too, but it was a tradeoff. She was about to lose it all, though. And that scared her a hell of a lot more than the things that went bump in the night. Things like Damon Salvatore.

_Damon_. All of this was his fault. If it wasn't for him, Stefan wouldn't have walked away from her. He wouldn't be leaving. If anyone was going to fix this mess, it was going to be Damon—that smug, self-centered, serial-killing bloodsucker. If anyone could convince Stefan to stay, it was his brother—_the source of all evil in Mystic Falls_. He'd made it a perennial habit to manipulate people, especially Stefan.

With the resolve of that thought urging her on, Elena moved to grab her coat and shoes, and then headed for the door.

Risky? Yes. Stupid? Probably. Would that stop her? No.

As she'd guessed it, Elena found him where they'd left him: in the clearing of Fell's Church. He was sitting on the ground with his knees drawn up and his arms draped over them, back pressed into a fallen birch trunk. Her determined march faltered when she got close enough to really see him through the darkness. The woods enveloping them stole away most of the moonlight, leaving just enough peaking through the trees to show her the despair etched deeply across his being. It was foreign, almost mind-boggling to see him this way. Where was the devil-may-care smirk or the maliciously jovially gleam in his aquamarine eyes? This sad creature wallowing in the dark just didn't correlate with the vampire she knew as Damon. It fumbled her up for a second and she had to slow to a crawling pace to give herself time to snatch back that righteous anger that had fueled her all this way. The gathered steam that had brought her this far was suddenly running away, and she was grasping at the leftover tendrils with all her might.

Suddenly, the tirade that had been scrolling through her thoughts on the way here was gone and she was at a loss for argument. So, feeling awkward without her fury, Elena carefully made her way to him and stopped just out of arm's reach. Like that mattered a millimeter. She'd seen him cross this clearing in a blur. In the blink of an eye, Bonnie was crashing to the ground, blood spilling across her collarbone. All before anyone had known what was happening. No, staying out of arm's reach was pointless. She was here. That was enough.

Damon's eyes threatened to draw up but he forced them to stay focused on the void of shadow. He'd sensed her coming, literally, a mile away—the sound of the car, the clumsy tread of her footsteps over disturbed soil, the delicious pump of her heart, nerves making her blood flow quicker and hotter through her veins. He'd listened to the pattern of her breath as she weaved through the trees, coming for him, sharp angry pants softening and calming with dull uncertainty. Honestly, he'd contemplated retreating to the shadows. He just wasn't in the mood to deal with her tonight. But for some reason, he'd stayed put, waiting.

But watching her flounder unsurely before him was too excruciating. So in the lightest tone he could muster, Damon took pity on the bothersome human. "You're so lucky I'm immortal. Do you have any idea how slow you are? Really, I would've died of old age waiting for you."

That seemed to do the trick, bristling her just perfectly. Her dark brow drew down and her coral lips pursed into a determined pout. Hands on her hips, she stared. "You have to stop him."

Curiosity tugged, even through his considerably dark mood, and his gaze rolled up to her with a projected air of indifference. "Come again?"

Elena's feet shuffled in place as she resisted the urge to pace. There was a wary reluctance to take her eyes off him that she just couldn't shove aside. "Stefan," she said. "You can't let him leave."

Irritation rippled through him. But when he rebuffed, he was deceptively at ease. "I can't?"

"Damon." Her dainty fingers curled into her palms. "He's going to leave unless you stop him."

"Yeah, I caught your little meltdown." He flashed a smirk at her. "_'Stefan!'_ Very embarrassing," he admonished. "I couldn't bring myself to listen. You must be feeling pretty humiliated right now, maybe a little used."

"You don't have to be such a bastard about it."

He cocked his brow at her. "Did you forget who you're talking to?"

Elena's jaw clenched. "_Damon_."

"Hey." He shrugged. "I didn't tell him to skip town on you."

Her dark eyes narrowed angrily. "You chased him off!"

"Uh, _no_." He chuckled huskily, and then lowered his voice to dig in the knife, smooth as silk. "You did that all on your own, sweetheart. If anything, my presence should be the thing keeping him here. Considering his big shtick is all 'protecting the innocent masses' from my evil ways."

She deflated a bit at that, slumping in on herself as her gaze went soft with despondent misery. "Why are you like this? What could he possibly have done to you to deserve this?"

It was the twinge of desperation that he detected laced through the annoyance that held him back, had him hearing her out, despite his baser impulses coming to the forefront of his awareness.

"I know about Katherine." She went on, either too stupid or too stubborn to cut herself off at the first sign of his body tensing. "Your old girlfriend, the one you both fell in love with. The one you both died for. The one you still—even to this day—hate each other for." Her head tilted to the side as she studied him, the facets of her thought process whirring before his eyes. "You must be so bitter. After everything you did for her, it still wasn't good enough. _Just you_ . . . it wasn't enough for her?"

She couldn't comprehend the movement until he was already on his feet with a hand around her throat, barely a caress of his strength cutting off her airway. The fear spiked inside her and he inhaled slowly, savoring it even as his eyes hardened on hers while she stared up at him with a defiant tilt to her chin. He couldn't quite believe she'd just tried to _goad_ him.

Damon's fingertips flexed warningly against her neck. There'd be five perfect bruises stark even against her toffee pallor come morning. "You really should watch that mouth of yours, little girl." He spoke slowly, his jaw clenched in restrained anger. "You talk a lot on things you're clueless about."

"Am I?" she rasped. Her hands fell still at his wrist, wanting to struggle but resisting. He could snap her neck with a light flick of his wrist. As terrifying as that was, it was also enticing—that danger. He'd given her every reason to expect it, but deep down, she didn't really believe he'd hurt her. "I guess I kind of understand. I'd be pissed too. But I'd be pissed at _her_. It's not your brother's fault. And taking it out on him—for this long—is just ridiculous. Get over yourself."

He shoved his thumb up under her chin, fluidly ripping her head back as effectively as if he'd grabbed a clump of her hair and jerked. Elena let out a sudden cry of pain before her jaw clamped closed, one hand at his chest and the other at his wrist. The way she tried to use her ineffectual little fists was sort of endearing—in a funny/pathetic sort of way. Her heart was hammering against the walls of her chest she was so terrified, and still, she glared menacingly up at him. He truly did find her entertaining . . . when she wasn't irritating him.

"Why are you here, Elena? You couldn't possibly have thought I'd actually help you."

Her oh-so breakable fingers closed over his hand at her throat, soft and imploring. "You helped me with Jeremy," she said, catching him off-guard. "Maybe it was nothing to you, but we both know how important it was to me. In fact, I really don't know what I would've done if you hadn't done what you did for me."

"A moment of weakness," he ground out, flinging her away from him with an easy jerk of his arm. Her back smacked against a tree and she bounced off, toppling to the ground atop protruding roots. It was an easy gesture, like swatting dismissively at a gnat. But her impact was harsher than he'd intended. It was thoughtless of him. Irritation swelled up in him and lashed out. It was her frailty that always did it, always aggravated him, inexplicably.

Elena pushed herself up, keeping her head low to conceal the winces of pain as she moved. "Then do it for Stefan. No. Better yet, do it for yourself. You came back here for a reason that involved him, didn't it? The _diabolical game plan_?" she mocked. "Decimate Stefan? Won't work if he's not here to be tormented, will it?"

Damon followed, standing over her as she sat leant against a tree, cradling herself carefully. He looked down at her with an intrigued frown, amusement at her cost. "You really think you get me, don't you? Know how I think, do you, Elena?"

The girl turned her face up with a biting smile and a scathing gaze. "You're not that hard to figure out, Damon. Stereotypical, really." She was hoping to get under his skin again. But he only laughed, genuinely amused by her feeble attempt at turnabout. Then the spunk in her visibly exhaled and she sagged against the tree. "What do you want, then?" she tried, a last ditch effort she knew she'd sorely regret.

"From you?" he scoffed.

Ignoring the way that grated against her and made her cheeks burn, Elena's gaze rolled up to him, face slackened and voice smooth. "From me."

Damon's eyes drew back to hers and he sobered at what he found there, something enigmatic and unexpected, a cool steadfast demeanor full of implication. He'd just discovered a new layer of her, much more alluring than the last. There was something about the way she looked at him, a presence that suggested she held some power, belying reality.

He bent down to just above her level, leaned an arm over her shoulder to rest against the tree behind her as he invaded her space. "So what you're saying is you want to make a deal with the big bad monster?"

Elena swallowed, forcing down all the life his proximity awakened. "That's what I'm saying."

Disappointed that she hadn't wavered, he pressed closer till he could feel the shaky warmth of her breath against his cheek and lowered his voice. "You sure Stefan's worth it?" he asked her, his voice sickly seductive. The words themselves were laughable, but he held that in, because there was definite potential with this.

Elena swallowed and unclenched her jaw, struggling with the urge to shrink back from his looming presence. "Yes. I'm . . . positive." She hated that her voice trembled. Even more, she hated that the tremors running through her body were a result of the concoction of fear, danger, and lust. _That_ she didn't like at all. _That_ she couldn't even acknowledge. The seediness of it wasn't something she was willing to admit she melted for. Besides, this was about Stefan. She couldn't let herself be distracted from that just because this devil before her carried the mask of something a part of her might want. Something she might want _badly_. But with a stronger resolve, her voice came out steady. "Whatever you want, Damon. Within reason."

Damon felt a little thrill of excitement jolt through his deprived system. A slow smile wandered over his lips. Yes, this had definite potential. He straightened, backing away slowly and chuckling at the involuntary sigh of relief that escaped her. He was so hard right now, just at the palpable sense of her warmth, his body eager and hungry from the days of starvation he'd inflicted on himself. The taste he'd stolen from the little witch in his moment of anguish only heightened the need.

He was, regrettably, in pain. As if he'd lost Katherine all over again. Which, essentially, he had. And this disease coiling itself around his cold insides was sickening. It had him feeling a vicious need to be vicious—to share his pain. Pour it into someone else and forget he'd ever felt it. Forget ever feeling this pathetic.

He could _see_ the blood pumping furiously through her, the pulsating edge of urges as her body called out to him. She probably wasn't even aware of the way it purred, humming to him, needy and neglected. The frantic thump of her pulse had his mouth salivating with desire. He wondered, offhandedly, how she'd really react if he were to shove her up against the nearest oak and sink his teeth into her. He knew her body wouldn't mind if he was driving into it at the time. He could guess how she'd _think_ she'd react—horror/revulsion/outrage. The girl was so hung up on principle and responsibility that it was nauseating. She was blanketed and webbed in duty. She'd never just _react_. Her body, her hormones, her desires, they'd be wanting and she wouldn't even notice.

He realized, just now, why he'd really been circling her ever since he got back to Mystic Falls. It was more than another way to stick it to Stefan. He was drawn to her, out of curiosity, and just an inkling of hope. He wanted her raw.

So far, he could see _nothing_ of Katherine in Elena. Not a shred beyond her physical appearance and even that differed drastically. Those were the same eyes, but something entirely different behind them; same lips, just lacking the dangerous curl to them; same voice, yet missing the crucial lilt of calculated provocation. The more of her he took in the more he wanted to lash out at her, punishing. She wasn't Katherine. She was Elena. And she was infuriating.

Before, she was a distraction, entertainment, and he was mildly interested in playing things out with her on the board. Now though, now that everything was in ruins, now that he'd failed her, failed Katherine, now that the foreseeable future had nothing to do with Katherine, now that he had no mission, no achievable goal to work toward . . . all he had was Elena.

Elena and Stefan.

If he couldn't have Katherine . . . well, there was something to be said about consolations.

There was no reason for him to hold back, to keep from devoting his time to Elena, to rubbing her raw, peeling back the layers and finding something of his beloved in her. And if it turned out that the only thing Elena and Katherine shared were their forms, then he'd make it so. He'd grate her bare and mold her again, teach her, make her into it. She had the potential. He knew he could bring it out of her. If he couldn't bring Katherine back, he could create her, or at least shape Elena into something as enviable. After all, the girl did possess _some_ allure. She was strong and unimpressionable, formidable in her own innocuous way. It would be a challenge bending her. And the torment it would stir in Stefan would be gratifying enough in and of itself. Once Elena was irrefutably his—of her own choice—he and Stefan just may be even.

Despite what Elena believed, this was never about Katherine not choosing between them. This was about making Stefan pay for his betrayal. He exposed her as a vampire to their father after swearing to Damon that he would not be so foolish as to think that Giuseppe Salvatore would help them protect her from the townsfolk's growing suspicions. He had expressly demanded that Stefan not go to their father and his little brother had promised. He also _broke_ that promise. Stefan was the reason Katherine had been trapped in that church. Stefan was the reason his beloved was down in that tomb right now, wasting away.

Elena thought this was about jealousy, _hah_. If only she knew what her precious Stefan had done, how he had caused all of this to begin with. He wondered how highly she would think of him then. He needed her to come to her own conclusions about his brother, though. Of course, he'd help those conclusions along, but if he was too overt about it, it would backfire.

She could keep her vervain, too. He'd do this the old-fashioned way. He didn't need compulsion to enthrall her. Corruption was more enjoyable when it was achieved through hard work, anyway.

With a new plan formed, Damon was reinvigorated. Suddenly, he turned back to find her on her feet, arms crossed over her stomach, standing awkwardly as she watched him. The smile that curled his lips was enough to send shivers of dread up her spine. The way he was looking at her now reeked of predatory excitement. He took a measured step toward her, relaxed and radiating darkness. "You know, Elena . . . I haven't had a decent meal in _days_."

It hit her like whiplash. "No!" Wide-eyed with panic, she held a hand up to hold him off, even though he hadn't moved, and started backing away. "What kind of a trade-off is that? I don't have any interest in death."

His brow crinkled mockingly as he advanced simply to counter her retreat. "I won't take too much, I promise. But you have to come willingly. And after I convince my dear brother to stick around awhile, if he happens to ask, you have to admit you had a choice."

A whole different horror rushed through her. "Why would he ask?" she snapped, shaking her head. "Stefan wouldn't forgive me. He'd think something was going on." Comprehension smacked into her. "Oh, you are such a—"

"Conniving opportunist?" he offered jovially. "What can I say? I like multitasking."

"There's got to be something else."

Damon took another step, closing the distance between them. He had her backed against the side wall of the mausoleum. Decrepit cement bit into her as she arched away from him. "It's not so bad, Elena." He slanted toward her. "You might even enjoy it."

Her eyes narrowed at that. "I didn't enjoy it when Vicki tried to rip my throat out."

He grinned, an almost lewd gleam in his eyes, and pressed his hands to the wall by her face, leaning in, trapping her within the confines of his arms. "I've got finesse," he informed her, teasing tone and completely serious words. "Don't worry. I won't ravage—" His cocky teasing faltered once he was right up against her, the erratic symphony of her body calling out to him, almost unbearably. His mask slipped, face clouding over. His head bent down, lips brushing over the curve of her shoulder of their own accord.

"Damon," she pleaded breathlessly, panicked. Her hands pulled away from the cement and pressed on him, meekly pushing against his immovable form. She couldn't breathe. There was literally _no air_. He was suffocating her more now than when his hand had been wrapped around her throat. "_Damon_."

He pulled back then, jerking himself from her to maintain that last semblance of restraint, and a thick gasp escaped her when she caught sight of his eyes—bloody crimson overwhelming the deep green of his irises. Veins of rich red scrawled outwards with his intensifying bloodlust. Soon, he wouldn't be able to stop himself. "Deal or no deal, Elena? Say it now," he rasped, husk and gruff with parted lips as his fingers curled into the wall, cracking cement under his trembling strength.

She blinked bleary eyes under heavy lids and was surprised to find that she was panting softly in sync with him, as if they were both under some unseen strain. She was terrified, but there was a part of her—a dark, deep, minuscule part of her—that was tempted. "How do I know you'll stop?"

"Trust me."

"Trust you?" A dry laugh escaped her, but it was hoarse and shuddery.

A rumbling growl echoed under his breath, for her ears only, as he closed the distance between their bodies. "Let's get this straight. I can do this anytime, Elena. I can drain you dry with or without your consent. I can do anything I want with you." He pressed his mouth against the shell of her ear, sprawling a hard tingle through the back of her knees. "And there's nothing you can do to stop me."

He was right, she knew. So why would he bother with lying if he was going to use this opportunity to kill her? He didn't need it. Like he said, he could do anything he wanted with her. It was just that simple. So she promised, "Deal."


	2. In The Form of Men

**Entry 2: In the Form of Men**

**Part I**

"_I could do this anytime." His voice was like melting butter, enticingly lovely and breathtakingly terrifying all at once. "I could drain you dry." His lips brushed against her skin, hot and deceptively soft. Her heart rammed against her ribcage and her breath caught in her throat, suffocating with panic. Her mind raced. "I can do anything I want to you, Elena. Always. Anytime. There is nothing that can keep me from you. And there is no one left to protect you."_

"_Stefan." It leapt from her on reflex, overcoming the tightness of her throat. She tried to say more, but her voice was gone._

_Damon let out a cackling laugh, dark and mocking, and snaked a leather-clad arm around her waist, pulling her backwards until she was fitted against him. He pressed his hand into the curve of her stomach, spread fingers trailing downwards, and turned his face into the side of her neck to inhale her aroma. _

_Elena was stiff as a board against him, too afraid to move a muscle, frozen with anticipation. Spearmint and spice filled her nose, combined with the frissons that rippled through her at the hard planes of him flush around her, made her eyes flutter and her breath hitch._

_When he spoke, his mouth hovered in her hair. "Stefan's gone. He got tired of you and he left. I'm all you've got now."_

"_No." She shook her head against him and screwed her eyes shut when they started to shine. "No, he wouldn't do that."_

"_That's what you think." He laughed. Fingertips brushed along her shoulder, dipped down, tugged at her jacket till her skin was exposed to him. He bent his head down and she tensed. Glass plagued with spider web cracks sprawling out at rapid speed. But he only pressed his lips gently to the artery, death tauntingly dancing over her lifeline. _

_When she tried to pull away, his arm around her tightened, vice-like, and her heart leapt. His expression turned to stone, tender façade forgotten. "Remember our deal, Elena." He rolled her name languorously over his tongue, voice sending shock-tingles shooting up and down her spine. He pressed his hot mouth against the shell of her ear, harder this time, no gentleness left for her. "Remember what you promised me."_

"Elena . . . Elena . . . _Elena_!"

"No!" she screamed, flinging up in bed as a clammy hand flew to her neck. Her head was snapping back and forth, silk waves of chocolate swaying and tendrils sticking to the sides of her face. Her chest heaved roughly. All she could hear was blood pumping through veins, heart beating at her chest, bound to rip itself through at any second.

"Elena?" A cool hand drew across her face and she jolted. Her eyes, wild and wide, jumped and settled on a set of hazel eyes that peered at her out of a heart-shaped face. "Elena, my God, you're burning up. Are you alright?"

"Bonnie?" she croaked, fingers still pressed to the smooth skin of her throat. She looked around herself, coming back to reality, and accepted the loss of the dream world. Then she cleared her throat, but her voice still cracked when she assured, "Just a nightmare. I'm fine, really."

"Guess that's to be expected," Bonnie muttered. Her hand dropped from Elena as she moved away from the bed to the chair in the corner where her pile of clothes sat, folded neatly. "I'm gonna go ahead and get dressed. I'll take a shower at home and see you for first period."

"Sure." Elena lowered herself back onto the pillows, struggling to catch her breath. Her brow drew down tightly as she stared up at the ceiling with parted lips and a pounding headache. She placed the back of a hand over her forehead delicately. She was a bit feverish.

"El?"

Elena blinked, picked her head up to see Bonnie standing at the foot of the bed, frowning at her. "Huh?"

"Are you sure you're alright?" She set the pajamas Elena had given her the night before down at the bottom of the bed and climbed up onto it to kneel by Elena's feet. "You'd think I would be the one so shaken up, after last night and all." The mocha skin of her forehead wrinkled into soft folds as she stared closely into Elena's cloudy face. "God, you're pale. You want to call in sick?"

Elena let her head fall back as she shook it. "I'm fine, Bonnie, _really_. It was just a bad dream. I'll be perfect once I get un-sticky." She licked her lips and turned her face into the pillow. "You should go home."

Bonnie backed onto her feet with reluctance, eyes glued to Elena's limp form till the very last second when the door separated them.

Once she was alone again, Elena let out a sharp hiss of air and pushed up from the bed, flinging the covers away from her and coming to her feet. She crossed to the cherry wood-framed looking glass in the corner and ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back.

In the mirror, a pasty, damp, wide-eyed mess reflected back at her. She ran a hand gingerly along the line of her throat. It was without imperfection, smooth and silky, no bumps or cuts or scars. It was like that when she got home last night, too. But after that dream, it was hard to reconcile. All she could remember was the feel of Damon . . . his body pressing her into the earth. His mouth closing down over the curve of her shoulder, the pinprick, then the explosive fire that followed.

She slumped in his arms and he wrapped them tighter around her, keeping her on her feet by holding her against him. Her hands fell to his biceps, fingertips digging into the leather of his jacket. She could feel the tips of her hair brushing against her back. Her mouth had fallen open, but after the initial cry of pain, there was nothing but the occasional unintelligible sound. Maybe they were moans or whimpers, she didn't know.

Her head fell back, hair swayed, arms slipped from their grip on him to dangle, back arched backwards over the support of his arm, legs gave out. The more he took, the quicker the fire faded into an almost ethereal sensation of pain and weakness. It literally felt like the life force was draining out of her.

_How ironically proper_, she thought.

By the time he sunk with her to the soil beneath them, her eyes were fluttering in a weak attempt to stay open. It didn't matter—her vision had blurred into a swirl of dark colors a while ago anyway. His knees hit the grass as he cradled her, carefully, aside from the occasional jerk or jolt. He lowered her onto her back and followed her down, still drinking from her. He held half his weight on an elbow pressed into the soil as his other hand cupped the nape of her neck and held her to him. He was drawing it out, taking as little as slowly as he could.

Vaguely, she was aware that she didn't like that he was doing that, that he wasn't making it quick, that he was prolonging this, but it wasn't a tangible thought or emotion. All she could do was lie beneath him and twirl through the sensations.

Her hand found its way to his side, but could do little more than linger there. Under his jacket, she could feel the heat of his body intensifying through the thin fabric of his white shirt. He pulled tighter on her and something changed. Urgency rippled through her, seemingly originating from him, and she arched beneath him, a soft sound escaping her parted lips.

Vibrations traveled up his chest and evoked little shudders from her as a rumbling growl reached her ears, low and guttural. Her brow pulled tighter and her leg slid up his hip while her fingers dug into his abdomen. She was too weak.

After a bit of a struggle, she managed to get her voice back, somewhat. "Damon."

It wasn't much. But it was enough.

He jerked away from her, rising suddenly onto his haunches above her, and tilted his head back toward the dark sky. He was out of breath and satisfied as he brushed his thumb slowly over his lower lip to catch the blood that dripped down his chin. One knee between her thighs, Damon turned down to look at her. His eyes went up and down slowly, intently, carefully, until they rested on her hazy gaze. He pushed back down to her and caught himself with a palm to the soil by her head. He hovered over her and Elena was too tired to figure out the feeling that was choking her. Did she want to scream? Was she angry? Scared? Dying?

She didn't know.

She noticed his lips moving but her eyes rolled back into her head a second later.

When she woke, everything was different. She felt . . . satisfied. Warm and tingly. It was the most pleasantly content sensation she'd ever experienced. She was in afterglow. But she didn't understand it. There was a thick blanket of confusion weighing her down and discontent threatening to shatter.

Her eyes opened heavily and the first thing she saw was stars cast over an inky sky . . . tips of trees . . . then Damon's face. He was lying on his side next to her, propped up on his elbow. The curve of his lips was lazy and mockingly warm. If he was feeling anything near to what she was, then he looked it.

That realization chased away the rest of the warmness, leaving only agitation in its place.

He'd drained her into unconsciousness, near-death, then forced her to ingest his blood. She had vampire blood running through her system. And the worst part? The most infuriating part? All he had to say to her fury was: "Make sure to not die within the next few days and there's nothing to worry about." And the way he said it, the boredom, the disregard, the aloofness. The smug bastard!

But at least there was nothing for Stefan to see. No marks. She had to be grateful to Damon for that. But she had no idea whether he would hold up his end of the bargain.

"Guess I'll find out today," she said to herself.

And even more disturbing . . . she couldn't get the image out of her head. It was like a movie reel on a loop, getting fuzzier and fuzzier every play, but never less haunting.

"Great. I'm gonna be traumatized for life." She turned away from the mirror and corralled her hair up into a bun to get it off her skin. "But Stefan's worth it," she told herself, trying for peppy and failing miserably.

She got lost in her own head under the warm spray of the shower, and by the time she was dry and dressed, she knew she'd be late for school. When she went downstairs, she found Aunt Jenna in the kitchen, scrambling to chomp down an apple while juggling her bag and her sunglasses and her shoes as she rushed to the door.

They went out together.

"You'll never believe what happened last night. Logan, aka ex-boyfriend slash dirtbag that took off—history repeating itself, I know—with nothing more than a one-liner email as explanation. Remember him? Yeah. He showed up at my door last night."

"What? Logan's back?" she asked distractedly.

"Yeah," Jenna said, sharing her incredulity and so obviously irritated. "Can you believe it? He was all cocky and unapologetic. The jerk actually expected me to let him in."

"You didn't, did you?"

Jenna gave her a wry look.

"Of course you didn't. Good for you. I hope you slammed the door in his face."

"Um," Jenna made a face and shrugged her shoulder, "a medium slam."

"It's a start," Elena replied curtly, bouncing down the porch steps beside her aunt.

"Damn. I'm gonna be late. Have a good day, sweetheart." With that, Jenna bounded off to her car in a flurry.

"Yeah, you too," Elena muttered, making her way down the sidewalk in a bit less of a hurry.

The way to school was rushed and silent, but her head was spinning. Mostly around Stefan, though Damon creeping around the edges was a constant she was pretending to not notice.

It was a welcome reprieve when she found Bonnie waiting for her on the quad just as the warning bell rang out through the schoolyard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damon stood before the wide window in the parlor of the boarding house. The sun baked softly over his pale skin as he leaned against the windowsill, positioned in the light of the morning while he played with a stray dagger he'd found on one of the antique end tables in the foyer. He was waiting for Stefan to wake, and typically, he would be going out of his mind with boredom and stir-craze. But this morning, his thoughts were busy . . . yet oddly unproductive.

He couldn't get the taste of her out of his mouth. Her blood was pervading. He knew it would be delectable. There are things a vampire just knows. And it was obvious by the smell of her how good her blood would taste. The tangy sweetness was expected. But there was something else, something indefinable in there somewhere that had him curious . . . something strange and rich.

Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him, though he doubted it.

It almost made up for the fact that she tasted nothing like Katherine—just something else to add to the list of disappointments concerning that girl. Katherine's blood was stronger, bolder, everlasting deliciousness. Yes, he knew that was because Katherine was a vampire and Elena was human. But still.

Yet despite the aggravation of that, he'd barely been able to piece his control back together in time to avoid killing her. If he'd taken anymore, his blood wouldn't have healed her. It would've turned her. And that, well, it wasn't time for that. She had a long way to go. He had a lot of work ahead of him. Though, the thought of Stefan's face upon discovery brought an almost uncontainable smile to his lips.

Those things were fun to imagine. But he had to keep his vision on the big picture.

First off was proving to Elena that she could trust his word. It would be simple enough, if his little brother would ever wake the fuck up.

Damon twisted away from the window with a huff of irritation. Striding past the liquor cart on his way to the staircase, he veered off course and poured himself a glass of bourbon. He started to walk away, downed it, spun, and poured another. Then he made his way to the rear veranda and wandered outside, sloshing the neat drink in his crystal glass as he let his mind stray, indulgently.

The first thing that crossed his mind was the devastated look on Stefan's face—the look of heartbreak and tortured souls. It was the look he imagined he'd have gotten if he had let his impulses rule him the night before. But from Stefan's heartbroken face, the image slid to her.

He recalled their encounter, the feel of her frail body arching against him, slumping in his arms, the warm blood flowing down his throat, thick, fluid, smooth as silk and rich as cheesecake. Her hands digging into him as he stole away the little strength she had to begin with. Lowering her to the soft ground beside the tomb . . . her body going irresistibly pliable in his grasp—he couldn't get it out of his head.

Damon's eyes drew closed. The sting of bourbon sliding down his throat was stale in comparison. And now all he could think of was that blood, her blood, the taste and feel of it. Damn it, now he needed to feed. He needed more.

Clearing his throat, Damon leant against the veranda rail and finished off the bourbon before tossing the glass against a nearby maple. He screwed his eyes shut again as his hands closed over the curve of the brick. He concentrated and summoned the memory back to him. Only this time, things played out differently. She said his name and instead of pulling tight into restraint, he dug further . . . went deeper . . . took more.

He thought about what he would've done. What he could've done.

He could have had more of her, pushed it. He could have screwed her as he drank and she wouldn't have stopped him, even if she wanted to. But she wouldn't have wanted to. She'd have wanted it. She'd have wanted him. He would've drove into her so hard she would've begged him to stop, because she wouldn't have been able to take anymore. She would've writhed and wriggled and fought him. He would've made her scream, scream until her voice went raw.

Damon's fingers bit into the brick of the rail and it splintered under his grip. His jaw clenched as he breathed carefully through his nose, muscles taut.

He tried to keep going, tried to see it, play it out. But the image blurred, slipped out of his grasp and was replaced by a simple snapshot. She stood with her back pressed to the marble wall of the inside of the crypt, her hips jutted out lazily as she leaned against it. Her body was hugged in crimson satin and soaked by the warm firelight of the pillar candles around her. Her hair was tousled and dirty from the ground outside and hung around her exposed shoulders. Her arms curved against herself as her fingertips danced teasingly along the marble by her hips. Her head was tilted in a familiar way and her eyes were heavy and thick as they burned into him with an unsettling intensity.

He couldn't tell . . . he didn't know who she was. Was this Elena? Or was this Katherine?

The sound of footfalls against the Oriental rug upstairs pulled him from his reverie. He launched away from the ruined rail and strode inside, trying to shake away the disturbing feeling threatening to knot up inside him. He returned to the parlor just as Stefan came down the stairs.

He stopped at the landing and frowned. "What is it?"

Damon found his way back to his spot at the window, giving Stefan his back while he recovered his easy veneer. "Beg your pardon?" he intoned in impatient singsong.

Stefan stared with a furrowed brow, searching his brother's face before he relaxed and wandered into the room. "Nothing."

Damon turned to look out the window as he shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his slacks. In a blasé tone, he spoke up. "So, where do you think you might go?"

"Where do you think _you'll_ go?" Stefan countered evenly.

Damon slowly swiveled on his heels and, with a tilted head, smirked over at his brother. "Who said anything about me going somewhere?"

Stefan stopped in his tracks. "You did. You said—"

"Oh," Damon laughed with a curt shake of his head. "I'm not nearly tired of this town yet. There's still so much to be done."

"Damon." Stefan crossed the room in a blur to close the distance between them and level his brother with a deadly-serious look. "You can't do this. We are not staying."

Damon's grin was infallible. "Don't worry, Stefan. I'll be sure to take good care of Elena."

As expected, the taunt found Damon with his back slammed into wood paneling as Stefan fisted his hands in his shirt and forced him into the hallway wall. "What are you playing at?" he growled.

Damon shrugged him off sharply, sidestepped, and relaxed his stony expression back into an easy grin. "Firstly, don't touch me. Secondly, you should've known better than to believe that this would end so easily." He spun on his heels and locked hard eyes with his brother. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Damon." Stefan took a step toward him just as the bell rang and brought his advance up short. He got to the door a second before Damon. Side by side, the Salvatore brothers looked out to see Sheriff Forbes on their doorstep.

"Sheriff," Damon greeted warmly, bright eyes and a wry grin as he shoved his hands back into his pockets. "What can we do you for?"

The petite blonde in the stocky starched uniform and bulky utility belt glanced uneasily between the boys. "Damon. Can I speak with you a moment? In private."

"'Course," he murmured, shooting Stefan a look out of the corner of his eye. There was a fifteen percent chance that this could be something other than bad. He turned and led her out to the rear veranda, all the while gathering his thoughts and closing himself tightly into the familiar charade he'd been playing with the Sheriff since his return to Mystic Falls.

"I didn't know whether your brother is aware of what's going on or not," she told him softly, hands at her utility belt as she found a spot to stand. Her expression was grim and her body was awkward, on edge. She trusted him, that he was sure of, but even still there was a lingering awareness, probably too far beneath her conscious level.

"You mean . . . No. Stefan doesn't know anything about that. I'd like to keep it that way."

"Yes." She nodded, glancing back toward the house. "The kids shouldn't be burdened with something like that. It would only make things harder."

"Messier," Damon agreed with a small smile.

She blushed and looked off into the distance before coming back to him. His stare was making her uncomfortable. He eased back and made sure to lighten his gaze, glancing back and forth without zeroing in on anything in particular, especially her.

When another moment slipped by in silence, his patience wore thin. "So, what's going on?" He slanted toward her, conspiratorial and worried.

She cleared her throat and that grim expression on her worn porcelain face grew sturdier. "Another body's turned up. A young jogger; kid found her body in the bushes in my neighborhood. Throat ripped out, drained of all her blood."

Goddamn it. "Another vampire? How's that possible? I staked the blonde myself."

"She must've turned someone beforehand." Forbes shook her head, a crease formed in her brow and her lips thinned. "We're saying it's another animal attack."

"Can't beat the classics," he muttered.

"But we can't keep passing it off. Soon people are gonna get suspicious. The counsel's in an uproar. We have to take care of this and fast."

"So why did you come to me?"

Forbes paused, falteringly, and glanced away. "Well, you're the only one that's ever killed one before. I thought, maybe you'd be able to help."

Damon took a step back, scratched the back of his head uncomfortably with rigid shoulders. "I got lucky. I'm no vampire hunter."

"You sure took the last one down like a pro."

His eyes came back to her sharply before he managed to soften it. "Like I said, I got lucky. I know just as much as you about vampires. And that's not a lot."

"Right." Forbes moved around him toward the door, looking vaguely embarrassed. "I shouldn't have assumed—"

Damon glanced over his shoulder to watch her retreat. "I'll do whatever I can to help."

She stopped in the doorway and turned back to him, grim expression back. "Thank you."

He showed her out solemnly. The door clicked closed as he was turning and suddenly Stefan was there, slamming him back into the door and gripping his shirt again, hauling him off his feet.

"You killed again, Damon. What the hell is wrong with you?"

One swift shove and Stefan smashed gracelessly into the opposite wall, catching himself before he tumbled to the ground with the shattered table he'd collided with. "What did I say about touching?" Damon said through his teeth. "Besides, it wasn't me."

"Hah," Stefan scoffed, bitter and amused as he picked himself back up and straightened out, dusting shards of broken vase off of him. "Of course not . . ."

"I didn't do it," Damon drawled. "Don't believe me, fine. Just stay off my back about it." He waltzed past his brother into the parlor. "Bad enough I have to put up with your lectures for the stuff I actually am behind."

Stefan followed him in with a frown. "If it wasn't you, then that means there's—"

"A new vamp in town," Damon finished brightly. He spun on his heels and flashed Stefan a smirk. "So, when are you leaving?"

"I can't go anywhere now. You know that," Stefan ground out, his eyes going over Damon's head and his jaw clenching unhappily.

"Oh, it's not so bad." Damon turned on his heel and started to saunter out of the room. He stopped at the last second and glanced back. "Elena will be thrilled."

"What do we do?" Stefan called after him.

"Let the adults handle it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Is that Matt?" Elena asked, squinting across the bustling hallway as she nudged her locker shut. "No way . . ." She pulled back and leaned a shoulder against the lockers, waiting while Bonnie exchanged her books. "That is Matt . . . with Caroline. When did _that_ happen?"

Elena watched her ex carry on with her shallow blonde friend from across the hall. There was nothing overt, but it was obvious by their body language that they were both digging each other. Slanting towards her, touching his arm lightly, laughing at the same time, the way they were looking at each other. Yeah, Matt had it bad. And Caroline . . . well, Caroline's Caroline.

"Good for her," Bonnie said, bringing Elena back to herself. She turned and arched an eyebrow. "What?" Bonnie shrugged. "A guy like Matt might be good for her."

"Yeah, I guess," Elena sighed. For some reason, she wasn't thrilled about this new development. Not that she was jealous of Caroline, or disapproving per se. It just seemed . . . odd. "God knows it's a step up from Damon." She turned down the hall and Bonnie fell in beside her.

"Oh, you mean the homicidal bloodsucker?" she quipped with disdain.

"Yep, that's the one," Elena retorted, her lips curling at the corners. "You know, I'm surprised you're not bitterer than this, considering."

Bonnie sent her a dirty sidelong look.

Elena grimaced playfully. "Too soon for joking?"

"Too soon," Bonnie nodded. Then a hazy look came over her and she reached up to cover a hand over her neck. "I can still feel him biting me."

Elena's step faltered. She stared after her friend as Bonnie kept going, oblivious. Her fingertips traced the invisible marks along her throat and shuddered. "I know what you mean," she whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jeremy watched his sister plop down at a picnic table in the quad, setting her bag down beside her and opening up her journal. Elena bent over the table, dark hair curtaining her face, as she began to scribble haphazardly about her daydreams or whatever it was she droned on about in that ridiculous thing.

With a shake of his head, he got up from his seat, tore his eyes away from Elena, and started to stalk off. But before his head turned he collided with someone and dropped his sketchpad. He bent to snatch it up quickly and shove it into his backpack, then looked up to find Tyler Lockwood glaring at him, in track pants and a wife-beater, covered in sweat, basketball at his hip. Jeremy held back a groan.

"Watch where you're going, Gilbert," Tyler growled, clipping him harshly in the shoulder as he shoved past.

Jeremy knew he should let it go, but as he reached up to rub his shoulder, he spun. "What the hell's your problem, dirtbag?"

Tyler froze in his tracks and swiveled back to Jeremy, the look on his face saying he couldn't quite believe it. The basketball bounced off a nearby bulletin board, tearing flyers off before it rolled into the grass. Tyler was nose-to-nose with Jeremy before he could blink. "_You_ are my problem, loser."

Jeremy took a reflexive step back, eyeing Tyler strangely. The other boy's hands were trembling, so bad he clenched them into fists and took another threatening step forward. "Dude," Jeremy muttered, eyes narrowed incredulously. "Seriously, what's your damage?"

Tyler's face reddened. He flinched and started to—

"There a problem here?" Both boys turned immediately to see the new history teacher, Alaric Something-or-Other, advancing on them in long strides. He glanced between them, unnervingly at ease.

"No." Jeremy shook his head, didn't bother looking back as Tyler stormed off without a word. "Seriously," Jeremy huffed. "That guy's got problems."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elena shut her diary with a quiet sigh and stuffed it back into her bag. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back over her shoulder and climbing out of the table. She slung her bag over her shoulder and started off toward the school building. Fourth period bell would be ringing at any second, she knew.

With a thumb tucked under the strap of her bag, Elena started across the quad when she spotted Stefan coming toward her. Her heart leapt and her breath hitched. What was he doing here? Did he come to say goodbye? Did Damon not hold up his end of their bargain?

_Oh God_, she thought, panicky, making her way toward him and hopefully concealing her nerves. _What if he knows? What would he do? How would he look at me? Oh God. Okay! Don't freak out. Just stay Calm._

The expression on his face didn't help her with that. He leaned against a table on the outer edge of the quad and waited for her to stop beside him. Elena swallowed thickly and crossed her arms over her midriff. "What are you doing here?"

The look he gave her was grim. Her heart plummeted. "We need to talk."

_Please don't do this. Please don't do this. Please don't do this._

"Okay," she said slowly, thankful and shocked that her voice came out steady and cool. She hesitantly took a seat beside him on the tabletop and propped her feet on the bench, forearms on her thighs and praying for a strong stomach. She was feeling a bit lightheaded. "What is it?"

"There's been another attack."

Elena perked up. An attack? That definitely wasn't what she was expecting. No goodbye? No _"Damon told me you let him bite you, how could you?"_ Thank God.

Wait. What? No.

She hurriedly sobered when rationality returned and twisted to face him with a frown. "Damon—"

"No." He shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Are you sure? I mean—"

"He wouldn't go to all the trouble of getting the town off our trail and then be so sloppy." And as if he just remembered what "all that trouble" was, closed off and looked away, a sharp pang of sadness filling his eyes so quick it made her head spin.

She hadn't forgotten what Damon did to Stefan's best friend. She didn't think she'd ever get the sight of Damon staking Lexi out of her head. The way the blonde vampire shriveled up in seconds. That was a horror she saw behind her eyelids. It wouldn't be forgotten. But she'd been so busy worrying about all the latest horror that she hadn't had time to think about it too much . . . which she was, ironically, grateful for.

Elena cleared her throat to get past the suffocating thickness that had settled over them. "A new vampire then?"

"It would have to be. To leave a body in a residential neighborhood, right out in the open like that, no one who knows what they're doing would be that careless. Not in such a small community."

"So . . ." She pinned her hands between her thighs to keep from fidgeting. "What's . . . I mean, what's gonna happen?"

"We're going to track the newborn down . . . and take care of it." He turned and held her gaze. "I can't leave with an out-of-control vampire on the loose."

Elena's face slackened. She bit the inside of her cheek to stay steady. "So, you're still leaving then." She was glad her voice didn't tremble.

Stefan immediately pulled away, tensing, and came to his feet in front of her. With a crease in his brow, he tilted his head and stared into her. But his eyes, while tinged with something somber, were closed off, out of her reach. "I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice."

"No." He shook his head softly, lowered his voice. "There's not. Not when there are lives at risk. You're not safe as long as I'm here. It would be selfish of me to not go . . . unacceptably selfish. I can't put you at risk any longer. I see that now." He stuffed his hands in his jeans as his shoulders squared.

Elena was aware of the way her eyes were narrowed angrily on him and her body taut. "'Unacceptably selfish,'" she nodded, a bit sarcastically. "Oh, of course, it all makes sense now." She launched away from the table and onto her feet. "Thank you so much."

Before she could stalk off, his hand wrapped around her arm and twirled her. He came close and her breath hitched, face still held tight. "Just be careful, okay? It's not safe as long as that vamp's still out there."

She slipped her arm from his grasp and backed away. "Sure. No problem." When she turned her back on him and hurried away, Elena swiped a hand across her cheek, catching a stray tear before it could pool in the corner of her mouth.

She flung the double doors to the side entrance wide and stormed into the empty corridor. She'd missed the bell. Now she'd be late for two classes in one day. Just fabulous.

Elena skidded past a corner in a hurry, but halted suddenly when something strange skittered up her spine. With a hand on the wall, she turned and looked back down the hall she'd just come from. _Nothing_. She looked the other way. _No one_. So what was this feeling?

Suddenly, a hand clasped over her mouth, cutting off the chance to scream as she was yanked into a vacant bio-lab. The door clicked closed and she spun out of her attacker's grasp.

"Relax," he drawled in a bored tone. "I'm not going to hurt you . . . this time."

"Damon," she hissed, backing herself up against the whiteboard. "What are you doing?"

He raised his brow and spread his hands out to the side innocently as he advanced on her. "I need your help with something."

"No." She moved to stomp past him when he pulled an arm around her waist and twirled her with one swift motion, propelling her. Her back hit the whiteboard and she was right back where she started. "I'm not a doll!" she snapped.

His dark brow crinkled. "Did I imply that you were?"

"Then stop handling me like one."

"Oh," he sighed, holding up his hands again and rolling his eyes. "Sorry."

Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. She was _not_ in the mood for this. "What do you want?"

"Like I said," he spoke slowly, impatient. "I need your help with something."

"What could I possibly help _you_ with?"

He flashed a chipper grin and fished out a small golden compass from his jacket pocket. "Vampire hunting."

Elena stared. "Pardon me?"

Damon's grin dropped, impatient again. "'C'mon, I know Stefan filled you in, so let's just skip over the expo and get right to the point where you take this compass and you follow the little arrow to wherever it leads you. When you get there, you call me." Her spine stiffened and she pressed herself further into the board when he stepped up to her, grabbed her wrist, and planted the compass in her palm.

"What is this?"

"A family heirloom," he sighed, eyes darting away again. "Now get going. This'll probably take awhile."

"I know this compass. This is a piece from the historical society exhibit." She looked up from the compass and stared at him, her face scrunched up. "Wait, let me get this straight. You want me to go walking around town following an old compass? It's just going to send me north, you know that, right? That's how compasses work."

"Not this one," he said through his teeth. "This one will lead you to the vampire."

"Which one?" She cocked a brow at him.

Damon took in a deep breath through his nose and forcibly unclenched his jaw as he pressed his palms into the whiteboard on either side of her head and slanted over her. "Elena."

Her heart pounded. Her mouth went dry. If she could get any closer to the whiteboard, she'd be _in it_. He had her trapped again. Her fingers closed bitingly over the compass as she swallowed past the lump in her throat and forced her voice out. "Why would I help you? You didn't live up to your end of the deal. Stefan hasn't changed his mind."

"He's still here, isn't he?"

"But as soon as the second the vampire is taken care of, he's gone."

He pulled his hands back a few inches and slammed them into the board, jolting her. "Elena," he said in a dangerously tight voice. "I gave you my word. Stefan isn't going anywhere. Now take that compass . . . and follow it!"

Inwardly cowering, Elena bit down on any trembling and angled her chin up at him with an arched look. "You're gonna have to let me move."

The taut expression on his face relaxed and he visibly softened before her eyes, a slow smile spreading over his red lips like honey. "Call me when you find it." He pulled away and backed up a few measured steps.

She didn't waste any time in getting out of there.


	3. In The Form of Men II

**Entry 3: In the Form of Men**

**Part II**

It took the better part of Elena's afternoon to follow the trail around town, weaving this way and that as the wobbly arrow pleased. She must've walked miles, for hours, by the time the arrow finally settled. She looked up and found herself standing outside the old Fell's factory.

She flipped her phone open. "Damon. I've got 'em." She snapped the phone closed and stepped toward the factory, jolting when Damon appeared in front of her out of nowhere. She clasped a hand over her thumping heart and scowled. "God, don't do that."

He merely lifted a brow then turned his attention to the factory. "Okay. You can go now."

She bristled. "You're welcome." She tossed the compass at him, harder than necessary, and he snatched it out of the air while his eyes scanned the perimeter of the building. He moved forward and she stepped with him. "What're you going to do?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her and flashed a wry smirk. "What do you think?"

"But you don't know what's in there." She gestured to the looming factory with a frown, rusted sheet metal making it seem even more eerie.

"Well, that's the point of going inside. I'll find out." He turned back to the building but spun on her a second later with an odd expression. "What are you still doing here?"

"I . . ." She stopped herself, glanced uneasily between him and the factory, then threw up her hands and backed away. "Whatever."

Damon watched her walk away from the lot and back toward the street then spun on his heel and sauntered into the factory, senses pricked attentively.

Elena made it two blocks before she couldn't make her feet move any farther. Her mind was racing. She wanted to call Stefan. But something held her back. What would she tell him about why she was here, helping Damon? No. She couldn't call him. And there was no reason to. Damon could handle himself. But . . . she wanted to know. Either way. And who was this new vampire anyway? Was it really just a naïve newborn? Or was this a trap?

Despite the smart part of her brain telling her to keep on walking and mind her own business, Elena found her body doing a turnabout and heading back to the factory at a brisk pace. Just to ease her own thoughts, she promised. She wouldn't get involved. She wouldn't even go inside. She would just wait for Damon to come out and tell her who it was and what he did with them. Then she'd go back to school and attend the career fair like a normal high school girl. Simple as that.

She was moving hesitantly around a corner on the cement wraparound when she heard the gunshots, several fired in rapid succession. Her heart leapt up her throat. She was pretty sure Damon hadn't brought a gun with him. Meaning . . . But no. What could bullets do to a vampire? Piss him off, is what. Everything was fine.

She backed up against the steel rail and wrapped her hands around it for support as she fumbled with indecision. The sun was setting. Any minute now the last legs of light would be gone and whatever safety she had out here went with it.

She strained to hear something—a proceeding struggle, a smash, or a clash—anything that would convince her it was alright to just turn around and get the hell away from here. This was Damon, after all. It wasn't her job to worry about Damon. Now Stefan, she might worry, but Damon? He could take care of himself. He was stronger, faster . . . more powerful. More evil. It was easier to stay alive when you didn't care about anyone but yourself and your own whims. Bullets wouldn't stop him.

But what was a newborn vampire doing with a gun?

She spun and slammed back against the brick when an SUV came squealing from around the back and out onto the road. The stream of headlights brushed along the cement by her feet as it passed.

"That can't be good," she murmured, shoving away from the wall and rushing to the side entrance. She found the steel of the handle bowed into deformity, rendered useless, and hurried inside.

Elena just barely managed to stop from yelling out for him as she moved through the rows of machinery and wire-netting cages. She stepped out into the open and spotted him, sprawled out on the floor, bloody and grumbling angrily between coughs. It was a scary sight. To think, someone could do this to the big bad in her life.

She rushed toward him without bothering to scan the area to make sure they were alone. "What happened?" she asked, dropping to her knees beside him with a worried frown.

He groaned and propped up on one elbow. He'd been digging at the bloody mess in his shoulder. "Son of a bitch," he growled, ripping out something and tossing it away from him.

Elena's eyes followed to where it landed. "Is that—?"

"Wooden bullets," he snapped. "Ah." He shoved two fingers into his thigh and dug. Elena grimaced and turned her eyes away. "Oh, he's going to regret this."

"Who was it?" she asked, keeping her eyes trained on his face and away from what he was doing.

"That nosy newscaster—Logan Fell. I never liked that guy."

"Logan's a vampire?" Elena's stomach dropped. Logan. Jenna's first love, Logan? A vampire now? "How?"

Damon stopped to glance up at her under his furrowed brow, his lips set in a firm line as he dug the bullet out of his hip with gritted teeth. "That's what I was trying to find out when the bastard riddled me with woodchips." He tossed the bullet away from him with disgust when he finally got it out. "I thought I told you to leave?"

"I did just spend the last few hours tracking him down. I wanted to know who it was."

"Well, now you do."

"And I wish I didn't."

"Maybe next time you'll do as you're told then." He dropped onto his back with a pained grunt of exertion. His fingers were coated in his own blood, skin and tendon residue under his nails, and his shirt was so stained there was hardly even any white left to it. After taking in a deep breath, he moved his hand back to his abdomen and pushed through the hole in his shirt to get to the last wound.

"What did he want?" she asked. "Logan. Why is he doing all of this?"

He looked at her like she was a complete moron. "He's a vampire."

"So are you," she snapped. "There's got to be a better reason than that. Okay, so he killed someone. He's new to this, isn't he? I mean, he could—"

"Some _ones_."

"What?"

He nodded to a point over her shoulder and she turned. Her eyes fixated on the nearby cage. "Oh God," she gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth as bile rose up her throat and her gag reflex somersaulted. Inside the cage was a pile of mangled bodies, broken and limp limbs tangled up together. Tossed together like a pile of trash. It sickened her. And brought tears to her eyes. "My God . . . How long has he been here?" she strangled out, swallowing and willing her voice to even out.

"Ah," Damon hissed, pulling his hand away from his body and slamming it down against the cement. "Damn it."

She turned slowly back to him, relieved when her eyes found his face and let go of the image of the macabre behind her. She sniffed and swiped at her eye impatiently. Resolve formed and she was able to get control of herself, bring her shields back up. "What?"

He fell back with an aggravated huff and snatched her wrist, dragging her hand up to his abdomen. Her hand immediately sunk in warm syrup, oozing between her fingers, sticking to her skin. She held back another gag. "Get that out, will you."

"What?" she yelped, jerking her hand away.

"Is that the only word you know?" He lifted his head to settle an even look on her. "I can't get the last bullet out from this angle. I need you to do it."

Her eyes went down then back up and she shook her head, vehemently. "I can't. I'm not—"

He raised his brow, irritated already with her. "Yes, you can." Then he tossed a look over his head at the door. "Besides, he may come back. Then how would I protect you?"

"Protect me?" she balked bitterly. But her face paled a bit. He was right. Logan could come back. Reluctantly, she gritted her teeth to stay steady and moved her hand up. It was shaking. His eyes drew to that, but he didn't comment. "Yeah, right," she mumbled while she pushed his ruined shirt up to expose the wound and ran her fingers experimentally around the carnage. "You'd serve me up to him on a platter then sit back and enjoy the show."

He pulled a face. "I resent that." Then he propped back on his elbows as he watched her. "I'm saving you for later."

She cast him a quick glance, let out a soft laugh, and sobered before she dug her fingers into his skin, past the muscle and tendon, and rummaged around until her fingers closed around the wooden bullet. The whole time, she kept her face turned the other way, eyes on the wall as she pretended what she was doing wasn't really what she was doing.

He let out a relieved sound as she pulled out with the bullet and flung it away from her. "Finally."

"I can't believe I just did that," she said in a breath. Her gaze drew back to the wound as his skin seamlessly stitched itself back together before her eyes. Elena's fingers floated up and ran over the smooth spot in fascination and a bit of awe. She glanced up to find him staring and quickly pulled her hand away, clearing her throat. "What now?"

"Now," he sighed, propelling gracefully to his feet. "I track him down, rip him limb from limb—while _you_ go home."

There was a small voice inside of her that wanted to protest. But she turned her head and raked her eyes over the mess of tossed away bodies—and all the compassion fled her. "Yeah," she whispered, mostly to herself. In a new voice, she wondered, "How many people are in there, you think?"

"I dunno, eight or nine, I guess." He shrugged, disinterested.

Then he snatched her arm and pulled her to her feet, turned and strode toward the door, leaving her to follow. By the time Elena stepped out into the chilly night air, Damon was gone. She moved to leave, but only made it as far as the wraparound's steps before her body slumped down and she perched on the bottom tread. Tears leaked out of her eyes and tracked down her face so slowly she could feel each solitary drop.

Logan Fell: vampire, serial killer . . . dead man. What was she going to tell Aunt Jenna?

Realization smacked into her with the cold bite of steel and her eyes went wide. "Oh my God, Aunt Jenna," she gasped and lurched to her feet. Elena made it across the lot and out onto the road before she realized how stupid it was to try to run there. She pulled out her phone and dialed the first number that came to mind. "Bonnie? Where are you?"

"Elena?" her friend's voice answered over the line. "I'm on my way to school. Why? Where are you?"

"By old Fell's factory," she said. "I need you to come pick me up."

"Uh . . . sure, no problem," Bonnie answered. "But, what in the world are you doing over there? Wait. This doesn't have anything to do with vampires, does it?"

"_Bonnie_."

"Alright, alright, I'm on my way."

They got to Mystic Falls High School ten minutes later and Elena was out of the car and across the parking lot before the engine had gone quiet, bloody hand hidden in her pocket. She moved through the front entrance and down the corridors, passing by parents and their teenagers milling around, until she spotted her aunt in a mathematics classroom.

Jenna was standing by the creative writing booth, talking to Alaric. No, scratch that, she was _flirting_ with Alaric.

_Great_, she thought. That was just what Elena needed . . . for her aunt to start dating her history teacher.

"Hey," Bonnie's voice made her turn. "Are you going to tell me what's going on, or what?"

"It's a long story," Elena sighed

Bonnie cocked her eyebrows expectantly. "And?" she needled. Her eyes went over Elena's shoulder and her face softened. "There's Stefan," she murmured, turning Elena and directing her gaze to another doorway, where, sure enough, Stefan Salvatore was leaning with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on her.

Elena's heart stuttered for a second before evening out and she took in a bracing breath of air. "I better go talk to him." She started forward, then thought better of it and turned back to Bonnie. "Can you keep an eye on Jenna?"

Bonnie's brow stitched together curiously. "_Okay_."

"Thanks." Elena twirled on her heel and crossed to Stefan. "Hey."

"Hey."

"So . . ." She looked around, shoving her other hand into her back pocket awkwardly. "I doubt you're here to get ideas for the plan of your future."

"No." He pushed away from the doorjamb and moved closer. They turned to walk together through the corridor.

Elena nodded, chewing on the inside of her lip. "You're looking out for me."

"I hope that's alright."

"What else can it be?" she countered, hesitated at a booth to leaf through pamphlets, just to keep herself busy. She was being careful.

He obligingly took her sudden interest in the dynamics of photojournalism as something else. "Have you got it figured out yet?" he asked. When she glanced up at him and tucked her hair back, he clarified with a wave of his hand toward the banners all around them. "Your future path to success."

She let out a sharp laugh. "Hardly."

His brow drew into a slight crease and his head tilted to the side as he stared into her, studying intently and coming away with much more than she ever let show. It was one of the few things she found in common between the Salvatore brothers. That talent they both innately possessed of looking beneath her surface and revealing everything she worked so hard to keep hidden.

In a softly imploring voice, he went on. "Don't know what you want?"

"Don't like to think about the future." She dropped the pamphlet in her hand and rounded on him with a set jaw. "And I definitely don't want to stand here discussing it with you when you've made it clear that you won't be in it."

He looked away. "Elena . . ."

"I know," she cut him off, not eager to hear the speech again. "Look, Stefan, I get it. I just don't think—"

"Elena." Bonnie broke through the crowd and appeared between them, wide-eyed and guilty-looking. "I'm sorry, Elena. I just turned around for a second and she was gone."

"You lost her!"

"Lost who?" Stefan asked, frowning between them.

"She was talking to Mr. Saltzman," Bonnie said. "Everything was fine. Then Mr. Fell came over and upset her and she walked away. I tried to follow, but I don't know where she went. I'm sorry, Elena."

"Logan Fell?" he asked her as Elena brushed past them and out into the corridor, scanning desperately for her aunt, who was nowhere in sight. Stefan followed and caught her arm lightly, turning her attention back to him. "Elena, what's going on?"

She started to answer, but caught herself and breathed deep to relax, subtly slipping her stained hand back into her pocket. "I was trying to keep close to Jenna. Logan's back and I just know he's looking for her."

His expression turned stony and his eyes passed her, immediately zeroing in on the newscaster down the hall. "Vicki killed him," he told her. Before she could respond, he moved past her and down the hall toward Logan, who was watching them. "What are you doing here?"

"You know, your brother asked me the same thing. I'm a little tired of this script, so why don't we just skip over the interrogation and get to what I want." He slanted toward Stefan threateningly and lowered his voice. "How can I turn into a Daywalker?"

Stefan held himself carefully. "Damon and I are the only two that I know of."

"And you're both very cagey on the _how_, which tells me that there is a way." He glanced around them at the oblivious humans and turned his mouth up in the corners. "You know, in case you hadn't noticed . . . I'm very popular in this town. I know a lot of important people here. It wouldn't be very difficult for me to expose you. You might want to remember that."

Stefan tensed, anger and worry rising up in him. He smoothed his expression out and slanted. "You want to know how you can walk around in the sun . . ." He paused. "You _can't_." He took a step and brought himself right into Logan's face. "Don't ever threaten me again."

Stefan stepped around him and walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elena rushed out past the booths and into the front hallway, stopping by Mayor Lockwood and his son Tyler as they argued in hushed tones. She didn't have the presence of mind to care.

"Have you seen my aunt?" she asked.

"She went out that way," Tyler said, nodding irritably toward the glass doors in the front of the building.

"Thanks." She hurried out into the dark walkway and looked around, searching for Jenna or her car in the lot. "Aunt Jenna?" she called uneasily. Tingles of alarm ran up her spine as she sensed someone standing behind her.

Elena stumbled back with a gasp as Logan stepped towards her, smiling.

"Hello Elena. Long time no see."

"Stay away from me," she demanded, backing up toward the edge of the curb. It took nearly all of her willpower to resist the urge to turn and run. That would be the stupidest thing she could do. And screaming would bring too much exposure. "What did you do with Jenna?"

"I didn't do anything with Jenna." He flashed a dimpled grin and took another step, closing the short distance between them. "Don't worry, Elena. I wouldn't hurt you," he said softly, trailing the back of his hand down her cheek. She bit down on a flinch and remained perfectly still, afraid to move. As he brought his hand down her face he turned it and smoothed his thumb over the curve of her jaw, stopping when he reached the throbbing pulse point in her neck. "We're just going to take a little ride. When I'm done with you, I promise, you'll be safe."

She raised her brow in challenge, disbelief etched across her face.

He searched her eyes for a long moment before his expression shattered with a boisterous laugh. "Yeah, okay, you caught me." Before she could blink, his hand wrapped around her throat.

Elena jerked away but it did no good. She was spun around with a hand closed punishingly over the back of her neck. He slammed her head down into the window of a nearby car and Elena slumped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stefan strode out the side exit as his cell vibrated in his pocket. "Damon," he answered.

"I had a little run-in with our new vamp."

"Logan Fell. Yeah, I know. He's here."

"There? What the hell is he doing at the school?"

"Working the crowd? Who knows?"

"Mm," Damon murmured absently. "Is Elena's aunt there?"

"She was. Why?"

"That's why he's there then. He's _in love_ with her."

Stefan frowned, turning back toward the school. "Then she's not safe. I've got to find her."

"Yeah, yeah," Damon quipped. "I'll be right there."

Stefan made it to the entrance before Damon appeared beside him. He tried to stride passed when Stefan clamped a hand on his chest, holding him at bay. "Don't do anything here, Damon. It's too crowded."

"What am I, an infant?" Damon rolled his eyes and shrugged Stefan off, slipping past him into the building.

They made it to the west intersection when Damon turned right and Stefan turned left. Thinking better of it, Stefan stopped and turned back to his brother. "Damon." He waited for him to face him before he continued. "When was the last time you saw Elena?"

Damon's brow furrowed, mouth quirking up in one corner. "Why?"

Stefan shook his head and started walking toward him. "Your scent is all over her."

Moments ticked by as they stared at one another, studying each other. Then Damon tilted his head and took a lazy step backward. His smile put Stefan ill-at-ease. "Funny you should ask—" He trailed off when Stefan's phone rang again.

He flipped it open and frowned, his eyes still on his brother's face. "Yes?"

"Hello Stefan," Logan's chipper voice greeted him from the other end, stopping Stefan in his tracks. "I was thinking about what you said, and I realized that all you really needed was a little more incentive to cooperate."

Tense, he turned and started back down the hall. "What are you doing, Logan?"

"Currently? I'm thinking about all the ways I'm going to enjoy your lovely little Elena."

Stefan whirled to find Damon standing behind him, listening in. "If you touch her, I'll put you in the ground myself, and this time, you'll stay there."

"Oh," Logan laughed. "I'm going to do a lot more than touch her. That is, unless you want to tell me the secret." His voice hardened as he went on. "I intend to become a Daywalker. And I'll do anything for it. If that means Elena has to suffer because you Salvatores don't want to share, then so be it."

Elena stirred, letting out a soft moan. Logan turned to look at her as she lay slumped in the passenger seat of his commandeered SUV.

"I'll give you an hour to decide what it is worth," he told Stefan sharply, then clicked the phone shut when her eyes fluttered open. Comprehension settled in and she gasped, springing up and curling in against the door in a pointless attempt at getting away from him. "Relax," he smiled disarmingly and turned back to the road. "We're almost there."

"Where are you taking me?" she snapped, eyes darting this way and that as she searched frantically for an escape.

He turned and flashed a wry grin that set her teeth on edge. "Well, I'll tell you this . . . there won't be anyone to hear you scream."

Elena swallowed, forcing her brain to not think about that. When his eyes went back to the road, her hand darted out for the door handle, popping the lock up and flinging the door open before she threw herself out of the car and rolled.

She smacked into pavement and skin scraped as she heard the sound of brakes screeching. She blinked and he was standing over her. She pushed herself up off the ground and started scrambling backwards.

"Stay away from me," she yelled through her teeth, stinging pain radiating through her.

He chuckled and followed her leisurely. "Come on, Elena. Where are you going to go? Why even try? You're only making this more difficult for yourself."

She angled her chin and glared. "_Bite me_."

"I plan to," he quipped, eyes going monstrously red and fangs descending.

Elena's chest constricted. _This is it_, she thought.

Then he lunged . . . But he never made it to her.

Shots rang out through the quiet night, startling her already frantic heart. Her wide eyes darted everywhere as Logan fell to the pavement, grunting in pain as his body was riddled with wooden bullets. Her fingers dug into the road. She wanted to run, but she couldn't move. She was frozen.

Damon stepped into her view with a gun in his hand, appearing from the driver's side of the car. As he sauntered toward them, he waggled his eyebrows and smirked. "Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"

Elena gasped when a pair of hands touched her. She flinched and spun to see Stefan crouching beside her, his brow creased with worry and something else, something indefinable.

He held up his hands for her. "It's okay. It's just me. You're safe."

"What a white knight," Damon drawled, firing another shot into Logan's chest for the fun of it. His eyes lightened when the other vampire screamed in pain. He struggled to get off his back and Damon nudged him in the chest with his boot, making Logan smack back into the pavement. "Stay down."

The sound of sirens in the distance alarmed them all.

"Damon," Stefan called.

"Damn it." He rolled his eyes and looked away, clenching his jaw in irritation before he turned back to them. "Get her out of here."

Stefan immediately turned back to Elena and, with imploring eyes, started to lay his hands on her again. When she acquiesced, he hooked an arm around her waist and another under her knees, taking off in a blur.

Damon landed another shot before he discarded the gun and retrieved a tire iron from the back of the SUV, waltzing jovially toward his prey. "So, let's try this again. Who turned you?"

"I can't believe your siding with the humans over your own kind. All I want is to walk in daylight. Is that so much to ask for after what you did to me?"

Damon clenched his hands around the iron and gritted his teeth to swallow back the aggravation threatening to boil over into premature violence. He bent at the waist and towered over Logan.

"Firstly, I'm not on anybody's side. You just pissed me off. And secondly . . . I wouldn't have had to kill you if you hadn't been playing vampire slayer. Not my fault you had vampire blood in your system when it happened. Speaking off, let's get back on target here. _Who turned you_?" With a thoughtful look and a playful swing of the iron when Logan remained mute, he added, "Y'know, this thing could take a head clean off."

Logan held up his hands, panicked. "Okay, alright—I don't know. I really don't know."

"Hm," Damon sighed, pulling back the iron. "That's too bad." He was mid-downswing when Logan stopped him.

"Okay, I do know! I do!"

Damon left the iron mid-swing, hovering over the other vampire's head. "Who turned you?"

Lights flashed down the road, headed their way.

"You think you're the only one trying to get into the tomb beneath the old church?" he babbled, slanting up onto his haunches. "You're not. There are others who want to free the entombed ancients. We can help you. Just let me go. And I can show you."

Damon bent closer, his eyes lighting with a new intensity as the merriment of vengeance fled and was replaced with that damnable hope he couldn't seem to shake off. Others out there trying to free the trapped vampires under the church?

"No," he snapped, shaking his head. "The crystal that enclosed them was destroyed. That was the only way to open the tomb."

"No," Logan rushed, glancing over his shoulder at the oncoming squad car. "There's another way. A spell . . . they know where to find it, what to do. I can bring you to them."

Damon clenched his jaw in struggle, but ultimately lowered the crowbar and straightened. "Take me," he groused.

"I'll meet you there, at the clearing by the church, and lead you to them. Just let me get out of here." He moved to get to his feet when Damon swiftly kicked him down again.

"_No_. You'll take me there now or you'll lose your head."

The squad car slammed on its brakes a couple dozen yards up ahead and Sheriff Forbes leapt out, drawing her .38 handgun from its holster at her hip and crouching behind the open door of her car.

"Damn it," Damon cursed under his breath, bending back down with the iron held ready to strike. "Alright, I'll meet you there. Now take me down and make it look real." He swung a second later and let Logan knock him back into the SUV.

Logan darted away in a blur of shadows before Sheriff Forbes could get off a clean shot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elena didn't allow herself to breathe until Stefan had brought her into the parlor of the boarding house and set her down on one of the sofas. The gash at her hairline was bleeding and the scraped skin of her forearms was stinging like crazy.

He left her there alone wordlessly before returning with a small first aid kit. She moved to swing her feet to the floor and lifted an amused eyebrow at him as he sat down on the edge of the coffee table beside her.

"This was Zach's house," he reminded her softly.

Elena's smile faded. _Right_, she thought, _another horrible thing Damon did_. Some of the other stuff she could at least _try_ to understand, but killing your own blood . . . she couldn't fathom that. Zach Salvatore was probably one of the last of their descendants. Why she would think that that would mean something to Damon, she had no idea.

Stefan set the kit aside after taking out peroxide and a cloth. She hissed as he dripped some over her cuts, but bit down to keep quiet. From the strained look on his face, the little blood of hers that was in the air was enough to affect him.

"I don't understand," she said through her teeth as he cradled her left forearm.

Stefan glanced up and met her eyes as he grazed his fingertips over her skin. "What is it?"

"Why did he take me? What was this all about?" He offered her painkiller tablets and she shook her head, leaning back in the sofa after he wiped the blood from her hairline wound.

"Logan was trying to use you to get to me. He wanted to know how Damon and I walk in the sun. When we wouldn't tell him, he needed leverage."

"Huh," she sighed dryly, "Figures. But couldn't he just . . . I dunno, research? Why go to all that trouble—"

"The lapis stone isn't commonly known for what it can do for our kind," he told her. "If Katherine's handmaiden hadn't been a witch, she wouldn't have known and neither would we. Even nowadays, there are very few of us who are able. Which is why we . . . well, _I_ try to keep a low profile." He leaned forward, his arms rested on his thighs as his soft green eyes burned into her. "Now do you see why I have to go? As long as I'm around, you're in danger."

Elena stiffened and stared back. "Don't do that, Stefan. I'm sick of it. You keep going on about all the bad stuff you've brought into my life, but what you don't realize is it was already here. I was buried in bad. And before you got here, it was all I had." _'Now I have you and you're going to take that away from me,'_ remained unsaid.

He started to pull away. "You don't get it."

She leaned up and stopped him. "_Yes_, I do." Her hand dropped slowly from his arm as they stared at each other—at an impasse. "You're the one that doesn't get it. Everything that's happened, all the blood and the death and the pain . . . yeah, it sucked. But I wouldn't go back."

He stilled, utterly perplexed. "Why?"

"Because," she said with a small shrug, glancing away, "it's worth it to me." She rose slowly to her feet in front of him, so close he could feel the warmth radiating from her. In a strong voice, she went on. "I know what I want."

With a halfhearted shake of his head and sad eyes, Stefan started backing away from her. "Elena—"

"I love you, Stefan."

He stopped moving away. He stopped moving altogether. He even stopped breathing as indecision ripped at his insides. He knew he needed to distance her. This was what was best for her. But he just . . . _couldn't_. "You do?"

She took a small step toward him, leaving at least five feet lingering between them. Her eyes were insistent and her expression was resolute. "I do."

There was a war raging inside of him. And with her staring at him like that, with her words echoing through his head, it took less than five seconds for the selfish side of him to win out and send his body propelling across the room.

His hands cupped her face as his mouth crashed down onto hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tyler Lockwood was sitting on a rickety picnic table in the grass alongside the school's parking lot. He watched in a daze as people filed out of the building and into their cars, driving home for the night, talking and laughing. Some guys from the football team were congregated by a flashy new Ford, making a lot of noise and riling up the teens that passed by them. Tyler's eyes drew back to his dad and watched as Mayor Lockwood shook hands and smarmed and schmoozed his way through person after person.

Tyler's fists clenched at his sides as a roiling anger lashed through him. It subsided, replaced by a sudden wave of depression and self-pity. That in turn inspired more irritation and anger. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He was such a mess tonight, all over the map, and he felt like he was going mad.

Through the trees, the silvery light of the full moon shone down on him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan left the factory behind and started across the dark parking lot. He was on his way to meet Damon at the clearing of old Fell's Church. He wasn't sure what all he should tell the other vampire, but he'd have to give him something.

Truth was . . . he'd lied to save his own ass. He couldn't tell Damon anything, not really. If he revealed the others, they'd kill him, for sure.

So, he would meet Damon at the clearing in the old part of the cemetery and he would tell him a good story, string him along a bit until Logan could figure out a way to make them tell him the truth about how they were able to go out in sunlight.

He couldn't go an eternity without the sun. He just _couldn't_.

But first, he'd stop by the Gilbert house and visit Jenna. He needed to see her. It was a necessity, an urgent impulse that went bone-deep. He'd convince her to invite him inside and then he'd get her back, one way or the other.

The sound of something clattering pulled Logan up short. He spun, suspicious eyes scanning the darkness for signs of life. There was nothing. Still uneasy, he turned back around and was met with a vaguely familiar face.

Startled, suspicious, wary, he took a step back and squared his footing. "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of Jenna's," the stranger said.

Logan frowned. That was right, now he recognized him. Alaric—the new history teacher . . . he was the guy that had been chatting up Jenna earlier at the high school. Logan frowned, fingers curling into his palms with anger as he stepped towards the other man.

"Right," he ground out. "Look buddy, you probably think yourself brave tracking me down to . . . what? Warn me to stay away from her?"

"Jenna's a good person," Alaric said, emotionless. "She deserves better. And she doesn't need you hanging around, terrorizing her."

"Just shows how truly stupid you are," Logan chuckled.

"That may be. Either way," Alaric smiled, "I'm here."

"Yes, you are." Logan took another step. "And just in time too. I was getting a little thirsty."

He turned his head to the side as his eyes went red and the rage filled him, spreading out through red veins revealing themselves below his translucent skin. With a low growl, he lunged, ready to sink his teeth in.

Logan was met with an unexpected stake to the heart. He convulsed, shriveling as the life fled out of him, and as he collapsed to the ground, he looked up into the perfectly serene face of his killer. His last thought echoed through his mind before he was dragged into the final death: _What the hell?_

Alaric waited, standing over the body, until he was confident the demon was gone. Then he stepped over it and walked away, headed for the Gilbert house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damon paced a short line between the trees in the cemetery surrounding the decrepit ruins of Fell's Church, impatient and growing more pissed with every second that ticked by. Just as his thoughts turned to musings of the most horrendous sort of pain to inflict on that dead man walking, he was interrupted by the buzz of his phone.

His brow furrowed as he checked the id before flipping it open and bringing it up to his ear. "Sheriff Forbes?"

"You have no idea how much this town owes you. How much _I_ owe you."

His pacing halted. He pressed a hand to the tree beside him. "Excuse me?"

"One of my deputies just found Logan Fell's body over at the old factory, a stake through his heart. Thank you so much, Damon."

Damon's chest constricted. _Dead._ Who killed him? Why did this have to happen? He was so close. So fucking close to finding the answers he needed. Who was out there plotting against him? Actively working to ensure he never found a way to get Katherine back. The tight sensation in his chest turned heavy as he sunk down to a tombstone. He screwed his eyes closed for a moment and pulled control back into his bruising grasp.

"You're welcome."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elena arched up on her toes as Stefan's arm enclosed around her waist.

His hand pressed to the small of her back, igniting fire through her as he dragged her up against his body and tangled his other hand in her hair. She draped her arms around his neck and let him walk her backwards till her calves hit the edge of the bed.

Her fingers worked deftly at the buttons of his shirt as he kissed her, curving tongues and lips. His hands explored her with gentle touches that were steadily intensifying. She shoved his shirt down his shoulders and it pooled at their feet, and then smoothed her hands over the planes of his chest, down to linger at the waistband of his jeans. He broke away from her mouth just long enough to tug the fabric of her shirt up over her head and throw it aside.

"Stefan," she murmured into his mouth as he bent his knees and dipped down, hands moving over her to flick the button of her jeans out of place and drag them down her hips.

Her fingers delved into his soft hair, running through it, nails lightly scraping his scalp as she stepped out of her pants and he rose up to recapture her lips. His hands slipped to her hips and lifted her up against him, only to lower her down to the bed beneath him a second later.

Elena hooked her legs over his hips as she arched, focusing on the feel of his cool mouth moving against hers, stealing her breath, as his touch made her heart pound faster.

Beyond their own little world, Damon stood out on the balcony, hands stuffed in his pockets and closed into fists as he watched them. It was bad enough he let that pathetic wretch Logan jerk him around earlier. But to have to come home to _this_ was beyond his tolerance. He tore his eyes away from them and stepped over the edge, gliding swiftly to the ground below.

Images filtered in and out of his mind as urges threatened to overwhelm him. He needed to get out of here before he ended up doing something that might screw up everything he was working for.

As he stalked into the shadows, he heard her sigh his brother's name, her voice breathy and heated and soft, the way it sounded when she'd said his own name as he drank from her back at the mausoleum. It was the only time she ever sounded like Katherine.

Later on, Elena lay in Stefan's arms, her body warm and her legs numb in the most satisfying way. She bit her lower lip against a smile and draped her arm around his bicep, resting her head on his chest. Her brow furrowed as she screwed her eyes shut. Something was already working at chasing away her glow.

A hand rubbed up and down her spine and he pressed his lips to her tousled hair. "Are you alright?"

Elena laughed softly. How did he always do that? "I'm fine." She turned her face up to him with a small smile. She knew she was beaming like a fool, but there was nothing she could do about it. "Just a bit lightheaded . . ."

Stefan's brow creased and she ran a finger over it and kissed him again. "You're probably just dehydrated," he said once they pulled apart. "I'll be right back."

"Mm," she murmured, rolling onto her side as he slipped out from under her and pulled on his discarded boxers. He padded silently out of the room, leaving her all alone. And when he was gone, she turned and smothered her face with the pillow.

When her heart was back to normal, she sat up and crawled to the foot of the bed, bending down to snatch Stefan's shirt up off the floor.

She shrugged it on over her bare body and as she worked at buttoning it up, she milled around the room nosily, feeling light enough to fly. She stopped by the desk and dipped down to inhale the warm scent of the vanilla candle burning there. Then she moved around the desk and strummed her fingers along the spines of the collector books in the bookcase. She twirled back to the desk, about to blow out the candle, when her eyes were drawn to a drawer left ajar. Inside, she saw a locket, exactly like the one around her neck.

Elena dug into the drawer and picked up the photograph hidden there by the necklace. Her eyes widened as she stared down at herself in a black and white snapshot, gone sepia with age. She was wearing a Victorian dress with her hair corralled into fancy spirals, a marble cameo resting in the valley of her breasts. The edges of the photo were worn, but the handwriting in the bottom corner was unmistakable.

_Katherine Pierce, 1864_

Stefan returned to an empty room. Baffled, he called out to her, looking around as he stepped further into the room. Closing his eyes and straining his hearing, he realized she was gone. When he went to set down the glass he'd brought up, he spotted the photograph. Katherine's image was lying on the desk. On top of it sat the vervain-filled locket he'd given Elena.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Down the road from the boarding house, Elena power walked her escape.

In her jeans, shoes, and Stefan's shirt, she raced down the side of the highway, swiping angrily at her cheeks as the tears flowed freely and sobs wracked her body. She couldn't believe it. She just didn't understand. All this time . . . how many times had she told the two of them that she wasn't Katherine? How ironic. She'd had no idea.

_All this time_, she thought. They were seeing Katherine. Not Elena. It was bad enough when she was just the love of their lives that died tragically in a fire. Then she was their sire, the one who turned them into vampires. Then she wasn't dead at all, she was simply imprisoned somewhere they couldn't reach. Then there was hope of freeing her, bringing her back. No, all of that wasn't bad enough. She had to end up being virtually Elena's twin. Now how the hell was she supposed to convince herself that she wasn't the rebound girl, a Katherine substitute?

She stopped, turned around and searched the darkness around her as shudders ran up her spine. She wasn't alone. Someone was watching her, following her. They were out there, somewhere, she could feel it. Starting up again, she quickened her pace and wrapped her arms around her midsection, holding herself tightly.

She was at least half a mile away from town. If she ran, there was no way she'd make it.

Then headlights flashed over her and Elena held up a hand to shield her eyes, stepping off the asphalt and into the ditch to avoid them. They were coming toward her awfully fast. She took a step back, getting even further away from the road, just in case. And she couldn't help the unease that twisted in her gut as she watched them advance on her.

Then something darted out of the trees on the other side of the road, coming right for her. The car jerked to avoid it and spiraled towards the ditch. Elena tried to jump out of the way, but the rolling vehicle struck her before she could make it. She was knocked down the hill as fireworks exploded within her, a blindingly fiery pain like she'd never imagined. Glass shattered and someone screamed, sending terror through her as she struggled to roll onto her back, to get up, to see what was going on.

Then a horrible screeching sound had her covering her ears and cringing into the grass. Like nails on a chalkboard.

The woman's screams died out with an abrupt pitch and Elena threw her head up to see a shadowy figure step out from around the overturned car. Her hands dug into the earth and she tried to get up. She had to run. But she couldn't, because she couldn't move her legs. In fact, she couldn't feel anything from the waist down.

All she knew was that horrible screeching, the blood she tasted as it pooled in her mouth, and the sight of that thing coming toward her at a crawling pace.


	4. Truth & Consequence

**Entry 4: Truth and Consequence**

**Part I**

Elena's heart threatened to rip itself from her chest it hammered against her ribcage so violently. She twisted her upper body and clawed at the ground beneath her, trying to drag herself away. But her pant leg was caught on a jagged edge of twisted metal that belonged to the wrecked car.

Shattered glass surrounded her and smoke filled her lungs. She looked up and could see the car's damaged engine hanging precariously over her head, dripping fluids and emitting streaming clouds of smoke. By her leg was the broken windshield and past that she could see the driver, a woman, pinned beneath a deformed steering wheel, so bloody she couldn't even make out her face. But she wasn't moving anymore.

A shuddery and tearless sob escaped her as she reached out for the dangling woman, pulling back at the sudden sound of a low growl. Turning back, she saw the thing moving toward her. It had stopped by the edge of the car, maybe a foot away from where she was trapped. Then it began to circle the front end, stalking around her on all fours.

Elena's terrified eyes followed its every step even as her hand shakily began gliding across the ground, rummaging until she had her fingers wrapped around a large shard of glass. As the creature dipped its head down and peered at her with feral platinum eyes, Elena gripped the glass so tightly that blood seeped from between her fingers and dripped into a pool. The creature's lip pulled back as it snarled, eyes darting from her face to her bloody hand.

It gnashed its teeth and ducked beneath the engine toward her. Elena screamed, jerking back uselessly as its claws raked over her stomach and yanked her to it. The twisted shrapnel dug into the bone of her ankle as it ripped her from underneath and tossed her away from the car. She landed on her back a few feet away and shrieked in pain as the impact drove something cold deeper inside her spine. She convulsed and threw her head back. The pain was so excruciating at that moment all she could think was, _"Stop! Stop! Stop!" _

Heavy paws the size of her head pressed into the grass on either side of her body as it hovered over her, leaning down to gnash its teeth at her again, grazing her skin just barely. The stench of its breath was sickening. It dipped its head toward the carnage of her stomach and brushed its snout into the mess, making her cry out again and jolt.

She clenched her hand around the glass and tried to swing up, but her arm convulsed when it reared back and sunk its teeth into her side. Its jaw was so large that its bite encompassed her side from stomach to back. Elena screamed, and on pure adrenaline and stubbornness alone, she gritted her teeth and drove the glass up into the crevice between the creature's leg and chest. It released her to rear back as it howled a screeching mixture of pain and fury.

She twisted and grabbed for the ground to drag herself away from it, but it clamped onto her calf a second later and dragged her backward. She flipped back around and wished to God she could've used her other leg to kick it in the face. That's what she tried to do too, because she'd forgotten that her legs were useless. When it was obvious again, it was like a slap in the face. It stung. And she cried out in hysterical frustration. She heard the crunch as its teeth hit bone, but she couldn't feel it. When it sensed that, it drew away from her leg and leapt for her face.

Elena jerked back and her arms flung up to stop it.

In midair, a blurry shadow collided with the creature and sent it flying away from her. They tumbled together deeper into the ditch but before the shadow cleared Elena was jerked up into someone's arms. Her head snapped up to see Damon scooping her up against him with one arm as he raised the other and aimed the gun in his hand at the creature. He fired and the thing shrieked and jerked away from Stefan before its striking paw could reach him.

It hit her with a whoosh—Stefan and Damon were here and she was safe now. Her head fell to Damon's chest as the adrenaline fled her and consciousness swayed in and out.

On his knees with Elena slumped in his lap, Damon followed the creature with the gun and kept firing until it ran off into the woods and disappeared. Stefan leapt to his feet and looked about to give chase before his eyes went back to Elena. He was crouched at her other side in an instant. Damon let the gun drop and brought his wrist to his mouth, bit down, and pressed the new wound to her lips.

Her head dropped back as she struggled with the pain, half delirious.

Stefan ran his hand down her back and cringed. "Elena, drink, please."

Damon's eyes raked over her hurriedly, his face twisting like Stefan's at what he saw. "Come on, Elena." He resituated her in the crook of his arm and pressed his bleeding wrist into her mouth again.

She started to shake her head when Stefan lashed out and held her face against Damon's wrist, forcing her lips apart. As the blood pooled in her mouth, Elena's brow drew down, suddenly focused on the warm liquid filling her instead of the pain. She arched instinctively, taking more, swallowing urgently with half-closed eyes.

Stefan's hands slipped away from her face and Damon's arm around her moved upwards just as Stefan wrapped a hand around the shrapnel protruding from her back and yanked it out, allowing the damage to be healed by the blood entering her system. She screamed and jerked forward, her face colliding harshly with Damon's chest, mouth agape and fingers digging into the ground beneath them as tears streaked her face.

She slowly began to calm as the wounds healed and the pain faded, leaving her shaken and shell-shocked but overall okay.

A hand came up to grab at her hair and the back of her head, her shoulders, another at her arm and waist, gripping her to them as her body's trembling slowly eased and her breathing quieted. She let them hold onto her, the heat of their bodies enclosing around her, shielding her from the chilled night air. She held her eyes closed tightly, struggling to recover.

The brothers' gazes locked over her head as they held her.

When Elena's eyes slowly opened, they went straight to the wreckage. She broke away from them, their grasps on her reluctantly dropping as she stumbled up to her feet and crossed to the car. She dropped onto her knees by the driver's side door and jerked at it. When it wouldn't budge, she moved to crawl underneath the engine and through the broken glass of the windshield.

"Elena," Stefan called.

She sniffed sharply and reached out for the woman, going for her neck. She couldn't find a pulse. There were four matching gashes ripped across the woman's chest she hadn't noticed before. She shook her head. "One of you, help me!" she yelled, shimmying deeper into the car.

Stefan ducked down near her, a soft look on his face that only made her angry. "She's gone, Elena. It's too late." The vampires were both plainly aware of the lack of a beating heart.

Her eyes darted past him to Damon, standing nearby with his hands in his pockets as he watched her. Unlike his brother, there was no sympathy on Damon's face. He was carefully blank. Mad at them both, she turned back to the woman and crawled closer, trying to get the seatbelt undone to free her.

"Elena . . ."

"Just go!" she snapped, rounding furiously on him. "If you aren't going to help me, then just leave, because I really don't want you here, either of you!"

Stefan pulled back slowly, his expression wounded but understanding.

Behind him, Damon watched her. "You're just wasting your time, Elena."

"Shut up," she spat. Then, breaking, she sunk back against the upside-down passenger seat and covered her face in her hands, shuddering with a silent sob. She put a brave face on and pulled her hands away. When she spoke, her voice was forcibly calm. "Just go away."

Stefan rose to his feet and backed away. Damon clapped a hand on his shoulder and sighed. "C'mon hero, let's leave the damsel be." His voice was soaked in sarcasm. He spun on his heel.

Stefan turned away from her. "I'm not leaving her here alone. It could come back."

They retreated to the shadows without another word, lurking at the edges to watch her. She called 911 and neither left until she'd been taken away in an ambulance.

Walking up the front yard to the boarding house, Stefan broke their silence. "She found Katherine's photo."

"No wonder she was so pissed."

"I just have to explain myself."

Damon laughed. "I don't think she wants to hear it." He stepped inside and went straight for the liquor cart, pouring himself a glass of bourbon. With his back to Stefan, he brought the glass to his lips and said, "So Logan's dead."

"Just in time for a werewolf to step up and take over terrorizing the town," Stefan muttered quietly, lowering himself onto the sofa and scrubbing his hands over his face.

"What is it with this place? It's like a seductive nexus luring in misery and death." Damon downed the glass and set it aside. "Then again, hasn't it always been? This town's got a pretty fascinating history."

"A dark history, you mean."

"Semantics," Damon shrugged. "Think it's the only one?"

Stefan picked his head up off the back of the sofa and looked out the parlor window with a frown. "Not likely. If it's not traveling with a full pack, it's got a family."

"Could be just a drifter," Damon suggested lightly, then smirked as he added, "Lone wolf and all that jazz."

Stefan ignored him, still staring out into the darkness. "I can't get the image out of my head . . . what it did to her."

Damon's face darkened. A few moments of silence stretched on until his brother looked up at him and their eyes locked. "Let's go hunting."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Elena pushed up in bed to look over at the window across from her. An owl's song resounded through the room as she was pitched suddenly into darkness and the drapes began to dance as if the wind guided them. But the window was closed, sealed tight and locked for assurance._

_A scream of terror died in her throat. She couldn't make a sound. Her hands fisted in the sheets below her as her mind urged her to run. But her body couldn't move. She was frozen, suffocating, confined by an invisible force. She couldn't move. She couldn't cry. She couldn't scream. She was frozen, trapped. Helpless. Then it happened._

_The window shattered as the creature jumped through it, landed on the bed, and leapt for her throat._

Elena woke up screaming into the darkness of her room. She was alone. But the door was left open and through it she saw out into the hall where Aunt Jenna sat asleep in a chair. Guarding her?

But Jenna was still asleep, so Elena knew the screaming came from inside her dream.

She flung the covers off of her and swung her legs over the bed, rising shakily to her feet. She was trembling. She crossed through the hall and stopped by her aunt, nudging her shoulder gently. "Jenna? Jenna, wake up."

"Huh?" Jenna murmured sleepily, rousing. "Lena . . . What is it? What's wrong?"

Elena shook her head and pulled her aunt up from the chair. "Nothing, I'm fine." She slipped an arm around Jenna's waist and led her down the hall.

"Where are we going?" Jenna mumbled, blinking thickly.

"I'm taking you to bed."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah," she sighed. She let Elena lead her into the master bedroom and lay her down in bed before she pulled the covers up over her and said goodnight.

Elena closed the door quietly behind her and found herself standing in the middle of the dark hallway, alone, and not ready to go back to her own empty bed.

Her eyes wandered down over the landing to the rest of the house. It was daunting.

Instead, she found herself padding into her brother's room. She left the door open to allow in what little light the hall had to offer and crossed to his bed. He was sprawled out on his stomach, one arm shoved underneath his pillow and the other stretched out over the empty side of his bed. Without hesitation, she pulled the covers back and climbed in beside him, curling onto her side.

Jeremy roused. "Elena?" he whispered, perplexed. "Are you okay?" Instead of answering, she turned her face into his pillow and scooted closer. He frowned, rolled onto his side, and reached out to gently touch her arm. "You're shaking." He watched her face for a few seconds before resolutely moving his arm over her and letting her snuggle against him with her eyes screwed tightly shut.

"_Don't touch me," she cried, pulling away from his touch._

_He followed her with a wounded look, reaching for her again. She wanted to go into his arms. That was all she wanted. But she couldn't. "I love you, Katherine."_

"_Elena!" she cried brokenly. "I'm not Katherine. I'm Elena."_

"_But I love you," he said again._

She woke again to a soft touch running along her cheek. Opening her eyes, Elena found sunlight streaming into the room and her aunt's face staring back at her from her position crouched at the edge of the bed. Jeremy was still lying beside her, but he slept with his back to her now. Jenna brushed her fingers through Elena's hair, pushing it back from her face.

"Hey sleepyhead," she whispered softly, a voice befitting early morning.

"What is it?" Elena frowned, beginning to lift her head from the pillow.

"I have class today," Jenna said. "But I don't want you going to school. I'm going to have Jeremy stay home with you today, okay?"

"No." Elena shook her head. "He shouldn't miss school. He's just getting his grades back up. He can't afford to miss any days right now."

Jenna's face fell. "Okay," she began slowly. "Well, I guess I can skip—"

"No, Jenna." She lifted onto her elbow and met her aunt's concerned stare. "I just want to be alone for now."

Jenna nodded, trying for a supportive expression. "Alright then . . . Do you want me to bring anything home with me? Ice cream, chocolate, cheesecake?" she tried, smiling.

Elena let out a soft, halfhearted laugh and shook her head. "Have a good day."

Jenna nodded again, leant up to kiss Elena's temple, then left the room as quietly as she'd come. She let her head drop back down to the pillow. Her eyes drifted closed, and a second later, Jeremy's alarm went off. He responded with a put-upon groan and flopped over her to smack it quiet before he rolled away again.

Resigned, Elena climbed from his bed and left the room, padding blindly back to her own bedroom and collapsing onto her own bed, burrowing darkly under the covers. She pressed her face into the pillow and willed the world to go away.

_She eased herself down, lying back against Stefan's chest, skin to skin. He was propped against the headboard with his legs spread to encompass her as she lay between them. _

_The room was cast in shadows, the only light drifting through the drapes coming from the full moon outside. His hands spread wide as they glided over her soft skin, overheating her at his soft touches, and eased down her arms till his fingers laced with her own. _

_She shifted and licked her lips, arching her head back against him as she watched Damon crawl up the bed on his hands and knees to hover over her. He too was shirtless, left in dark pants and bare feet. Dark eyes shined in the shadows as they burned into her. _

_Stefan let go of one of her hands to brush her hair over her shoulder, exposing the curve of her throat to him. He dipped down and pressed his lips to her skin as Damon bent his head and captured her mouth in a brutal kiss. Her free hand rose to twist fingers in Damon's dark hair. He lowered himself down onto her so his hands could roam her body as Stefan's mouth moved up to trace the shell of her ear. Her hips arched up into Damon's as her upper half arched back into Stefan and a deep moan escaped her. _

_They both pulled from her at the same time, echoing a name huskily together. "Katherine."_

Her eyes shot open, the only part of her body that moved an inch when she shifted abruptly from dream to reality. She couldn't decide which one was harsher this morning.

A sharp _caw_ filled her ears and had her lunging upward. Her wide eyes darted to the open window, where a sleek ebony crow perched, staring openly at her. On reflex, her hand darted out and snatched up the candle that sat on her nightstand, flinging it toward the evil bird viciously. The crow took flight before the candle could hit it. In an instant, she was on her feet and across the room, jerking the window closed and locking it. It hadn't been open when she went to sleep. It had been locked, just as firmly as it was right now.

Elena sank down to the window seat behind her as her hands went up to run through her hair before her head fell into them. She brought her knees up to her chest and cowered in the corner of the windowsill, holding herself. And when she started to feel too pathetic, she got up, got dressed, and went downstairs, determined to harden until she felt like herself again.

Elena drank down a tall glass of ice water in one draw. Still she was thirsty. Her throat was dry and raw and her body was starting to tingle uncomfortably. She felt off kilter. She bounced on the balls of her feet, despite her body feeling achy, as she moved about the kitchen, making herself a batch of waffles.

She was stirring eggs into the batter in a mixing bowl when she felt someone else's presence enter the room from behind her. She dropped the whisk, but before she could spin on them, she found her hips being pressed into the countertop as a pair of hands curled around the edges of the counter on either side of her, trapping her within their arms. She sucked in air to scream when she noticed the heady smell of mint and liquor.

Her lungs relaxed and the tension in her muscles began to partially ebb. "Damon."

He tilted his head and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Good morning, Elena."

"Where's Stefan?" she asked tightly, holding herself perfectly still.

"Giving you space," he quipped, easing back until their bodies barely brushed.

She turned her head to meet his eyes over her shoulder with an impassive expression. "You should try it."

"Yeah well, I was bored. And Stefan's busy brooding." When he slanted into her again, she ducked under his arm in a smooth twirl, finding herself leant against the island a foot away. "We went after the lycan, but the night was a bust. Being wounded so badly must've forced it to revert earlier than scheduled."

Elena stiffened, tucked her hands into the pockets of her dark jeans and arched an eyebrow. "Lycan?" she echoed.

"Yeah," he grinned, leaning toward her conspiratorially. "You know—that big beastie that mutilated you a few hours ago. Don't tell me you've already forgotten."

She flinched, carefully turned her eyes away, and his grin faded. Damon's gaze rolled down her as he pulled back and tilted his head. She looked good. Still, as he took in her unharmed contours in the late morning light of the kitchen, images of the bloody carnage her body had been reduced to the last time he saw her flashed through his head. The look on her face, even as she tried to avoid showing it to him, caused something almost foreign to slither through him. He inwardly sneered at the comprehension of remorse. He wasn't supposed to have remorse. Regret maybe, occasionally, but not remorse.

Forcibly flippant, Damon strolled across and leaned a hip against the counter next to her with his arms folded. "Don't look so wounded. It's not like there's permanent damage. Look at you." He paused to move his eyes over her again. "You're good as new."

Elena let out a tired sigh and turned her body away from him. She seemed almost skittish this morning. It had him unsurely on edge, and he wasn't enjoying it. "Would you just go?"

Damon scowled at the back of her head for a moment before regaining his balance and zipping around to stand in front of her. "Oh, what's wrong, Elena?" he mocked. "Feeling a little under the weather?"

Her eyes snapped up to him, narrowed, alight. Her lips, which he just noticed were looking vibrantly red today, thinned into a grim line. "I'm just not up for this right now, alright?" she snapped, brushed passed him and stormed out of the kitchen.

Damon spared an offhanded glance at the waffle iron, which was letting out small whiffs of steam as it warmed, before he followed her into the den. "Alright," he sighed indulgently, moved to stand in front of her and crossed his arms again. He looked down at her as she sat with her legs folded under her in a reading chair. "What's your problem?" He asked it as if it were a chore that was put upon him.

Her head snapped up to him and she gaped. "My problem," she ground out, "is that I just watched a woman die last night. _I_ almost died last night. And on top of that, I just found out that the dead woman I was trying to live up to just happened to be my perfect doppelganger!"

She jumped to her feet and he took a smooth step back for her. She advanced on him, shooting heated daggers out of her eyes, and jammed her finger into his chest.

"Believe it or not, Damon, I don't enjoy feeling like a cheap imitation." She shoved him again and he obliged, jaw clenched with restrained impatience, until she'd backed him into a wall. "An imperfect substitute for you to make up for the fact that your century-old girlfriend is a no show," she sneered. "You're sick, the both of you. And I want nothing to do with this demented cycle that you're working so hard to keep going round and round."

She brought both arms up again and moved to hit him when his fingers enclosed around her wrists and spun her, reversing their positions in a flash. Elena flinched as she smacked against the wall and he pushed until her hands were pinned. He darted down till their faces were level.

Hovering centimeters from her, he said, "You've got it all wrong."

"Is that so?" she smarmed.

"Yes." His head titled. "Partly," he added as an afterthought.

Elena struggled against him, angry, trying to throw him off of her, and Damon chuckled at her antics, vibrations resonating through his chest into hers. "I'm serious, Damon. Let me go."

He smirked. "Turnabout is fair play, sweetheart."

She stilled in his grasp, the only sound remaining being her exerted breathing, as she locked eyes with him. "I understand now," she told him calmly. "I drew you back here. This was about Stefan trying to recapture whatever it was he lost when he lost Katherine. And you followed, because the opportunity my existence gives you is beyond perfect. What a miracle, to have this handed to you so easily, the perfect way to punish your brother for this grudge you still hold against him. Either way, it all comes back to Katherine." Her spine stiffened and her eyes hardened. "And I'm sick of it . . . So Stay Away from Me. That goes for Stefan too."

Elena slackened under his grip, pulling in on herself, and Damon reeled back in reaction. He pulled his hands from her as if her skin burned and stepped away, shoving his hands into his pockets and grinding his teeth with a furrowed brow as he stared at her. The sudden wave of anger that lashed out inside him was surprising. He didn't like her enlightened assessments or the way she seemed to want to take control of the situation. He felt like he didn't have a hold on her, and he didn't like that, not at all.

As his mind whirred for a solution, a strategy to turn this situation around again, he watched her move away from the wall and back into the kitchen. She picked up the mixing bowl and set it beside the waffle iron, took a ladle and began dishing the batter into the iron. There was something eerie about the sudden serenity that spread through her. It was almost palpable to him, and he knew, it wasn't forced or fake.

As he leaned in the doorway watching her, he found himself fascinated again. This was a part of what he'd been looking for, a part of Katherine. He wanted to see more. "Stefan came back to Mystic Falls the minute he knew you existed," he told her. She didn't seem to react. The only reason he knew she was listening was the slight pull of the muscles in her hand as she cooked. "The sap actually believed you were Katherine reincarnated or at least a close descendant. Of course, I knew from the start you couldn't be, because I knew what he didn't. Katherine isn't dead, never was. Just stuck in a stasis thanks to Emily's spell," he smirked.

Elena dropped the ladle and finally looked up at him. "I told Stefan I loved him last night."

Damon's expression threatened to darken, before he relaxed and let out a low chuckle. "Poor girl," he murmured, voice tinged with sarcasm.

"I'm really sick of you mocking me. Who do you think you are?"

"Damon Salvatore," he answered instantly, completely serious.

"I bow," she deadpanned, planting her hands on the counter in front of her as they stared at each other. "If I ask you something, would you answer honestly, or would you deflect?"

He shrugged and cast a glance away. "I'm not against honesty as a policy."

"You use it as it suits your mood," she drawled, turning back to the waffle iron and lifting the lid. She closed her eyes as a cloud of hot steam hit her and his mouth went dry. When she opened them, she took the golden waffles out despondently and set them on a ceramic plate. "What do you want from me?"

Damon's eyes darkened. He breathed in with pursed lips as he took her in with reflection. "That seems to change from day to day," he admitted.

"I'm not going to play these games with you anymore."

She unplugged the waffle iron and picked up the plate, then turned her back on him, only to jolt as he appeared in her path. The plate slipped and he caught it before it could fall. Damon's eyes went to her unadorned neck. _No vervain_, he thought. And he was tempted. He really was. But the urge to do this the right way won out. _No cheating this time_, he resolved.

When she reached for the plate, he held it behind him, up over their heads, making her stretch further. Her gaze flicked from the plate to his eyes and blushed under his burning stare. His lips quirked at the sound of her heart stuttering as she became _fully_ aware of him. He slid the plate across the counter as he suddenly closed the distance between them, backing her up against the island. She grew nervous.

When he leaned in, eyes relentlessly on hers, Elena bent her neck up and arched away uncertainly, only to rear up on instinct when his mouth crashed against hers, ravenously. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders and she rose up on her toes as they kissed, breathless and electric. Damon's control was wearing thin, but he somehow managed to restrain himself from forcing her up against the nearest wall and taking her without hesitation.

He needed to be patient.

He caught her lower lip between his teeth and her tongue slid into his mouth as her hips arched into him eagerly. His hand ran up from around her thigh, over the curve of her ass, up to delve beneath the fabric of her burgundy blouse and grip the overheated skin below.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open and she jerked away from him, a resounding _smack_ echoing through the otherwise silent room as her hand collided viciously with his cheek. Damon's head snapped to the side, more out of shock than actually bowing under her meager strength. He brought fingertips up to trace down his jaw while his eyes went back to her and his brow rose in surprise. A flustered Elena wormed her way out of his reach and put the island between them, her eyes wide, her cheeks red, her lips swollen, and her heart racing. It was a delicious symphony that threatened to distract him from the matter at hand.

"_No_!" she bellowed when he started to move around to her. She held up her hands to keep him at bay. "Stay away from me!" She was near frantic. He couldn't help but smirk, entirely amused. He'd already forgiven her for the slap. Through gritted teeth, she insisted, "I only did that because I'm mad at Stefan. He hurt me . . . He _can_ hurt me far worse than anything you can do to me . . . because I love him. I don't give a damn about you."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"You're infuriating," she growled.

"Newsflash, princess: so are you."

"Just keep your hands off me."

"I would," he quipped. "But that's not what you really want."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously as her hands slapped down onto the countertop. "_Don't_ tell me what I want." He moved around the island and she countered him. "You don't know me."

"Oh," he began deeply, "but I do. Better than you could understand."

"No." She shook her head, vehement and jerky as she kept backing away and he kept circling, like a dangerous predator, only she was more concerned about how she'd react to him than what he'd do to her. "Just leave me alone."

Damon came to a stop at the far corner of the island, slid his hands into his pockets, rocked back on his heels, and ran his eyes over her so meticulously it was as effective as a physical caress. "That's not likely to happen anytime soon."

Infuriated, Elena snapped—grabbed the first thing she reached, which happened to be a salt shaker, and flung it at his head. He dodged lazily and chuckled. "I hate you," she spat.

He held up a finger. "You wish you did."

"No, trust me. I do."

His smirk grew. He started to retort when he noticed the way her hazel irises were going molten before his eyes. He frowned and fell silent as he started to study her. There was something strange about her, something he'd been feeling all morning but couldn't quite put his finger on.

Irritably, she sat herself down at the table with the plate and started lathering the waffles with butter and syrup. "What?" she snapped.

He followed her to the table and sunk slowly into the opposite seat, still staring, puzzled. "Are you wearing perfume?"

She looked up at him like he'd grown another head. "No."

"Makeup?" he wondered.

"No," she growled with a roll of her eyes.

"Is your hair—?"

"My hair is the same as it's been for months!" she snapped, slapping her forearms down on the table and making the dishware quiver. "What the hell has gotten into you? You're mercurial mood shifts are giving me whiplash!"

_Pot . . . meet kettle_, he thought. "I don't think I've ever heard you say hell before."

"Damon!" She closed her fingers around the butter knife at her side. "I swear to God, if you don't stop . . ."

He smirked in satisfaction, kicking back in the chair. "Well, this is interesting."

She ignored him, turned back to her plate and started slicing up those waffles like they'd scorned her somehow. They sat that way in silence until she'd finished her food and turned her back on him to rinse her dishes out in the sink. When she turned back around, he was standing right in front of her. She tensed, half-jolted, because she hadn't heard him move.

He had one of her dark denim jackets in his hand. "C'mon," he said, "let's go for a drive." She opened her mouth to protest as he stepped into her and pulled the jacket around her shoulders, using it hooked around her to drag her out of the kitchen and into the foyer. "Get your shoes, come on."

"I don't want to go anywhere with you." She said it softly, all the expected venom absent.

"I'll behave," he assured impatiently.

She was still telling him no as he was pushing her into the passenger side of his sky-blue '69 Chevy Camaro. He slid in behind the wheel and revved the engine to life, switching the lever to take the top down as she wrapped her arms around herself and settled in, staring out her window and ignoring him. Which was just fine—he had some things to consider and could use a little quiet. But he didn't want her out of his sight just yet.

He drove her through town in silence. By the time they coasted to a stop at the bottom of the falls at the edge of town, she was in a better mood and he was surprisingly affected by it.

As they spent the rest of the morning walking along the falls, he watched her get lost in her own head and knew something was changing. He just didn't know what he was going to do about it yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonnie spent the day worrying. Elena never skipped school, especially without telling her beforehand, and she just knew something was wrong. She could feel it. Her vibe-o-meter was off the charts. So during lunch, she skipped out and raced to her Prius. But when she got to the Gilbert's house, it was empty. No Elena. No Jenna. No note. No explanation as to where Elena was or why she wasn't in school.

Bonnie reluctantly returned to school for fourth period, but promised herself to head straight back there as soon as school let out. And that's what she did. And still, no one was home. She had a sick feeling in her gut. So she took the spare key out from under the stone turtle on the doorstep and went inside to wait for her friend.

As Bonnie quietly walked through the house, she ran her hands lightly along things she passed, closing her eyes and going with the flow of the sensation rippling through her.

_Elena pressed herself into the counter to get away from him. "Please," she breathed, almost a whimper as her voice broke._

Bonnie panicked, feeling her friend's panic, but mistook it, and shock washed through her as the scene went on.

"_Please," she said again, a little stronger, with a light shake of her head. His tainted lips curled up softly and his head cocked to the side, blood-filled eyes burning into her with an intense desire that made her shiver in anticipation, fear and want. "Don't."_

"_Say it like you mean it," he whispered, dipped down and captured her lips in a searing kiss. His hands moved down her face, along the curve of her shoulders, settling softly around her throat. He forced his knee between her thighs and tilted her head back. _

_Elena's mouth fell open and her eyes fluttered closed, strangled moans escaping her as he bent his head and his lips pulled back to reveal elongated canines. All seconds before he lunged down and bit into her. She jolted against him, slumping backward in his arms, before her motions were reduced to soft trembling. He wrapped a solid arm around her waist to keep her up as he drank, spun them and backed her up against the kitchen table, lowering her down over it._

The moving image faded out to white with the lingering sound of Elena's breathy cries filling Bonnie's ears. She blinked, jerked her hand away from the table as her stomach rolled. Why would Elena let him do that to her? Especially after he almost killed Bonnie, not to mention all the other people he'd killed. It must be a trick. He could compel her. _That must be it_, Bonnie thought, simmering down at that.

Elena would never let Damon touch her. Bonnie was sure of that. Besides, she was in love with Stefan. And if there was one thing Elena would never _ever_ do, it was betray someone she cared about. She didn't believe in being unfaithful. She found it even more despicable than Bonnie did. He was going to trick her, make her do something she didn't want to, and Bonnie couldn't let it happen. She'd just have to warn Elena.

The dark-skinned witch turned on her heels and left the kitchen behind, not liking the vibe it was giving off. She moved through the living room and trailed her hand along the mantel.

"_Are you going to invite me in?" Alaric asked lightly, his eyes on Jenna's face as she leaned against the open door and smiled nervously. _

_A blush crept up her cheeks as she glanced around the house behind her. Elena wasn't home yet. Neither was Jeremy. But they could arrive at any moment and she wasn't sure where the line was drawn on having company over. She didn't want to make a mistake. She wanted to do this parent thing right, make her sister proud. But . . . he was just so darn cute and charming, in a decent guy kind of way, nothing like that jerk Logan. "Come in," she sighed._

_Alaric's eyes went down to his feet as he stepped over the threshold. Jenna turned with him as she shut the door and fell back against it with an expectant smile._

Bonnie's smile faded with the image as another strange vibe set her teeth on edge. There was something about this Alaric Saltzman that she didn't trust. It reminded her of how she first felt meeting Stefan. She'd more or less been off about him, but the basis of the vibe proved true. He did bring death with him. She just hadn't realized at the time that it wasn't his fault.

There were so many different synergies in this house, coinciding and clashing, mingling together into an overwhelming sense of trouble.

Her feet took her up the staircase and down the upstairs hall. She paused in the open doorway to the master bedroom.

"_My God," Jenna moaned through a trilling laugh. She was rolled out from under Alaric as he pulled her on top of him to straddle his hips. The sheets pooled around them. She was panting and flushed as she pressed her hands to his chest and bent down to catch his lips._

_The phone on the bedside table rang. _

_She groaned and reached over for it, holding her fingers over his mouth to stop him from distracting her. He ran his hands up her thighs to settle at her hips and a soft sound escaped her throat as she answered. "Yes?"_

"_Aunt Jenna?" Elena's tired voice resounded through the room._

_A frown tugged at Jenna's brow and she immediately pulled away from Alaric, propped on her stomach diagonally over the bed. "Elena? What's wrong?"_

"_I was involved in an accident. A car crash," she said carefully._

_Jenna's eyes popped as she gasped. "Oh God, Elena . . . what happened? Are you alright? Where are you?" She rolled out of bed and up to her feet, rushed to gather her discarded clothing and jerk them on._

"_I'm at the hospital. It's okay. I'm fine."_

"_Don't move," Jenna demanded. "I'll be right there."_

"Oh my God," Bonnie gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth and backing away from the doorway. Elena was in a wreck? That was why she wasn't at school! That was why no one was home! Bonnie had to get to the hospital! She had to—

"_I don't want to see you," she said softly and pulled away from him. She retreated into her room and he followed before she could force the door shut._

"_Elena," he sighed. "Please, just let me explain."_

_She ran her hands through her hair, keeping her back to him as she faced the open window. It was dark outside, last quarter moon rising. Tears trickled silently down her cheeks. "Just leave me alone, Stefan."_

"_Elena, you don't understand." He crossed the room to her, stood just behind her, hands yearning to reach out. He tucked them into his pockets to stop himself. She'd made it clear she didn't want him to touch her. He didn't want to upset her more. He just wanted to make her understand. He didn't want her hurting over this, especially since there was no need. She'd gotten the wrong idea. Granted, it was really the only idea she could've gotten from what she saw, given what she knew._

_She spun on him and his face fell. He hated it when she cried. "I understand perfectly. I don't want to hear how you rationalize it. Just go."_

Bonnie's head lowered to the doorjamb of Elena's room. It was spinning. All these different emotions, tacked onto all these disjointed movies playing in her head, missing reels and skipping on intense moments. Clearly, it had been a bad idea to open her mind up like this. But now that it was all flooding into her, she wasn't sure if she could get her shields back up.

Why was Elena hurting? What did Stefan do to her? Was that why she was doing what she did with Damon? Had it already happened, like the vision of Jenna and Alaric? Or was it _going_ to happen like the vision of Elena and Damon in the kitchen, and if so, then when?

Bonnie sunk tiredly to sit on the top step of the staircase, leaning her body against the rails and wrapping a hand over the banister for support. Her eyes fluttered open when the drapes over various windows around the room swished closed of their own accord. No, it was of _her_ accord.

It really freaked her out when that happened. And it _kept_ happening. Doors, candles, curtains, lights . . . the other night she fell asleep in the bathtub, after having turned the water off, and when she woke, she found the tub overflowing as the faucet poured out icy water. She'd spent four hours trying to warm up. She could still feel her teeth chattering. Sometimes, like with the drapes, it happened for the betterment, taking away the light that was hurting her head. Other times, like the instance in the bath, it seemed these innate powers backfired.

She came to her feet and hurried down the stairs, resolved. Bonnie stopped with her hand on the doorknob. An image assaulted her mind's eye in jagged flashes: _Elena stands in the cemetery under a bright full moon, her eyes glowing silver and a streak of blood dripping from the corner of her mouth._

Bonnie coughed, grabbing at her throat and stumbling back from the door. It was like blood was bubbling up in her throat, choking her. She threw her head back, shoulders straining and back arching as her hands fell limp at her sides and her feet left the floor. She levitated amid the flickering lights and dancing curtains of the foyer, an unnatural wind whistling around her as her eyes went white.

The front door slammed closed with a jolt and Bonnie collapsed onto the floor, gasping and coughing as she landed on her back and the white receded in her eyes, colored irises returning. She sucked in a shuddery breath and lifted her head, looking up to the person standing over her.

"Jeremy!" she gasped.

His wide eyes stared down at her, mouth hanging open, face pale. "_Bonnie_?"


	5. Truth & Consequence II

**Entry 5: Truth and Consequence**

**Part II**

As the sun set on the horizon, Damon strolled into the boarding house, headed for the drink cart, and found his brother sitting with his arms on his knees in the crooked landing of the staircase in the corner.

"Where were you?"

Damon took the time to pour himself a drink before he turned to face Stefan. "With Elena," he said honestly and took a sip of the amber ambrosia.

Stefan lowered his head for a long moment before he swung to his feet and entered the room, advancing on Damon. "What did you tell her about Katherine?"

"The truth. A bit of it anyway."

Stefan came to stand in front of him. The tension between them was nearly palpable. "What else?"

Damon took a savoring sip of his drink and set it back down on the cart behind him without taking his eyes off his brother. "Guess who's been infected." He sauntered around his brother and toward the stairs.

"There's no way to be sure so soon."

"You'll see it the next time you're with her," Damon retorted over his shoulder. "Her allure is already substantial. Can't wait to see all the sorts of havoc she'll wreak on the townsfolk as it intensifies through the month."

Stefan leaned a hand on the wall near him and shut his eyes. A few moments later, he pulled away and appeared upstairs behind his brother, who was unbuttoning his wine-hued shirt and tossing it aside. "How did she react?"

"She hasn't yet."

His brow drew down. "You didn't tell her."

"Nope . . ." He dropped back onto the bed and shoved his hand under his head, stretching out, and then followed Stefan with his eyes as his brother spun on his heel and headed for the door. "You don't want to do that."

"She deserves to know."

"And imagine how she'll take it." A dark look crossed over his face as his lips curled into a smirk. "She already hates your guts right now. Can't you picture it?"

"So I should just sit back and watch her struggle with it?"

Damon rolled his eyes up. "It will get obvious pretty quick, and she'll take it better if she figures it out on her own."

"You don't even know for sure," Stefan argued. "Maybe you're just attracted to her and this has nothing to do with the lycan's allure."

Damon grinned back at his brother's dark look and raised his brow. "_You_ didn't experience her new temperamental fits."

Stefan paused for a short moment. "Even so, it doesn't necessarily mean she'll transition."

"Yes, yes, I know: it depends on how her body reacts. But my bet is she'll take to it." He grew thoughtful, musing. "She's got that personality." Then he was on his feet and in Stefan's face within an instant, a new light of flame in his eyes. "Imagine it . . . imagine how incredible it will be. All the passion, the wildness of her . . . Can you even contemplate how exquisite her blood will taste now?" His smile widened as he watched Stefan stiffen, his fists clenching in restraint. "You know what we should do with her?" He slanted into his brother and breathed in through his nose, eyes flickering heatedly, provokingly.

Stefan snapped. Lashing out, he knocked Damon across the room and into the bureau. But his brother was ready for that; he'd been waiting for it. He grabbed Stefan by the throat and whirled till he flung him into the opposite wall, cracking plaster. Their eyes went red at the same time, true natures emerging as they were swept up in the violence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Elena got home, she retreated to her room, ready to collapse into bed and shut out the world for another night. But instead, she found Bonnie sitting there, watching Jeremy pace back and forth by the window seat.

"What's going on?"

Jeremy whirled on her as Bonnie looked up with a guilty expression. "Is it true?" he asked wildly.

Elena frowned. "Is what true?" Her eyes went from her brother to Bonnie.

"I told him everything!" she blurted out, then clasped a hand over her mouth and looked stricken. "I'm sorry, Elena. But I came to check in on you and something happened. Jeremy walked in on me—"

"She was freaking floating!"

Elena's heart leapt. Wide-eyed, she spun and shut the door tightly behind her. "Shh!"

"And when I told him about me being a witch, the vampire stuff just kinda . . . slipped out."

"What?"

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," he chided with a scowl, folding his arms over his chest as he squared off with his sister.

Elena matched his stance, shooting an _'I'll deal with you later'_ look at Bonnie. "So she tells you a story about witches and vampires and you immediately believe her? Come on, Jeremy."

"Hey!"

"Oh, don't even try that face with me, Sis. I walked in on her floating. _Floating!_ The whole house was practically shaking. It was like something outta _Poltergeist_. And the vampire thing, that makes sense." His hostile demeanor relaxed as he turned from her and began pacing again.

"What do you mean?" Elena moved to look disapprovingly at Bonnie and shook her head.

"Well, I've been reading an old journal from Jonathon Gilbert."

"Our ancestor?" she echoed dubiously. "What has he got to do with anything?"

"The stories and the sketches—his diary is riddled with them. All he wrote about was monsters . . . vampires in particular, witches, werewolf-like thingies. It was so vivid, so detailed; it didn't make sense until Aunt Jenna told me he'd been a writer. But still, something seemed off. Now I know. And I can't believe you've been dating a vampire all this time. How could you not tell me something as cool as that?"

"Because it's not _cool_, Jeremy," she snapped. "It's dangerous."

He stopped and turned back to her. "What are you talking about?"

Elena crossed to him, urgent. "You have to keep quiet about this, Jer. You can't tell anyone what you know. It's too dangerous. If anyone knew—"

"Anyone like who?"

"Like . . . okay, you know Jonathon's journal?" He nodded, brow furrowed as he listened. "Some of the other prominent families in Mystic Falls have their founding father's journal too, and they know the real history of this town. When the attacks started, they knew it was a vampire, and they went hunting for it. Innocent people have gotten caught in the crossfire. So you have to keep your mouth shut. You understand?"

"Yeah, sure," he muttered in a daze.

Elena grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look into her eyes. "Promise me, Jeremy. Promise me you'll be careful, that you'll forget this ever happened."

"Yeah, okay Elena," he sighed, put-upon. "I promise."

She relaxed and let go of him. "Thank you." Her eyes moved to Bonnie. "Now go do something."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, strolling out of her room. "But don't think we aren't going to have a long talk about this tomorrow."

When he was gone, Bonnie got to her feet. "I'm so sorry, Elena."

"I told you my secret in confidence, Bonnie. You swore to never repeat it."

"But he caught—"

"That has nothing to do with the vampires," Elena cut in sharply. "Forget for a minute that you violated my trust, but you just put Jeremy in danger."

Bonnie hung her head. "I wasn't thinking."

"_Obviously_."

"Okay." She lifted her head and hardened defensively. "But it's not like I asked to be dragged into this. I'm kind of new at this whole secret life thing."

"Have I gone shouting around town about what a _witch_ you are? No, I haven't. And I didn't exactly choose any of this, either."

Bonnie's shoulders sagged in defeat and she let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, I guess. I get it. I'm sorry."

Elena softened. "That's fine," she sighed, running a hand through her hair tiredly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so hard on you. I'm just not myself today."

"Yeah . . ." Bonnie's brow furrowed as she searched her friend's face. "You look different."

Elena nodded absently and leaned back against her dresser, closing her eyes. "I think . . . I really need a hug right now." Elena ignored the sound of the doorbell as she felt her friend's soft arms wrap gently around her from the side. She pulled her in close and Elena sunk her head down on Bonnie's shoulder.

She started rubbing small circles over Elena's back. "Do you want me to stay the night?"

Elena picked her head up. When her eyes opened, they were shining and her chin trembled imperceptibly, making Bonnie's frown deepen. "Could you?"

She nodded and pulled her arms tighter around her. "Most definitely," she murmured.

The soft sound of a throat clearing in the open doorway had the girls separating and turning to see an uncomfortable-looking Stefan standing in the hall with his hands hidden in the pockets of his jacket. Elena felt a swell of hurt and anger rise in her as she looked at him.

"Um, I'll just be downstairs," Bonnie said as she scooted past him without another word.

Elena watched her go before she reluctantly turned her gaze back to Stefan. "What are you doing here?" Before he could move into the room, she stepped out of it, making him back away.

He touched her arm and she jerked away, holding up a hand to keep him at bay. Stefan sighed sadly, but when he spoke, his voice was calm, void of emotion. "We need to talk."

"I don't want to see you," she said softly and pulled away from him, retreating into her room again. He followed before she could force the door shut.

"Elena. Please, just let me explain."

She faced the open window. It was dark outside, last quarter moon rising. Tears trickled silently down her cheeks. "Just leave me alone, Stefan."

"Elena, you don't understand." He crossed the room, stood just behind her, hands yearning to reach out. He tucked them back into his pockets to stop himself. She'd made it clear she didn't want him to touch her. He didn't want to upset her more. He just wanted to make her understand. He didn't want her hurting over this, especially since there was no need. She'd gotten the wrong idea. Granted, it was really the only idea she could've gotten from what she saw, given what she knew.

She spun on him and his face fell. He hated it when she cried. "I understand perfectly. I don't want to hear how you rationalize it. Just go."

He didn't move a step. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Katherine."

"You mean that she looks just like me?" she interrupted, and then let out a bitter sob of laughter. "Oh no, that's not right. _I_ look like _her_."

"That's not why I care about you."

She fixed her eyes on a point beyond him and set her jaw. "I'm Elena. Not Katherine. Elena."

"I know that. No one thinks of you as Katherine," he said comfortingly, moving a small step toward her. Her eyes snapped up, warding him off. "That is what drew me to you at first. I was curious. But once I got to know you, I realized how different you were from her, so very different. So when I tell you I care about you, know that it has _nothing_ to do with Katherine."

"How am I supposed to deal with this?" she asked earnestly. "You and Damon are both hung up on your ex-girlfriend. Fine. I could deal with that considering the history. But how am I supposed to take knowing that I'm virtually her twin? Am I supposed to just blindly believe that it doesn't make a difference? Act like it doesn't change everything?"

He let his hands drop as he approached her with caution, treating her like a wild animal he didn't want to spook. "I really am sorry, Elena. I never wanted to hurt you."

She swiped quickly at her eyes and angled away from him. "But you did." He stopped at her side, nearly touching, but wisely chose not to close the distance. A few moments of silence stretched out between them.

"Where do we go from here?" he finally asked.

"I don't know." She shook her head and slowly turned to meet his gaze. "I think, I just need some time to process all of this." She softened under his gaze and bit her lip for a moment. She was aching to step into his embrace, but she didn't. "If you're going to be staying . . ."

"The option of going seems to have been eliminated."

She couldn't say she wasn't relieved to hear that. "I'm glad." She turned and sat down on the edge of her bed, staring straight ahead and bowing under the intensity of his emotive eyes. "I love you, Stefan . . . But I don't know if I can be with you right now."

It took him a moment to respond, but when he did, his voice was steady. "Take all the time you need," he lightened a bit, adding, "I'm not getting any older."

_But I am_, she thought offhandedly, opening up a whole new facet of issues that she had to stuff hurriedly into a _'deal with later'_ box in her already crowded head. With a soft nod, Elena swallowed and gripped her hands in the bed comforter.

He turned to go, suddenly hesitating and turning back to her. "Elena, about the attack—"

"Please," she said over him quickly, shaking her head. "I don't . . ."

He debated with himself for a long moment before nodding in resignation and going for the door again.

But then something occurred to her.

"Wait," she blurted out, making him turn back to her again. "Aside from the whole Katherine thing, I know this is the worst time ever, but I need . . . I need to be open with you about something." She looked up at him to find his expression guarded. Swallowing, she went on determinedly, fumbling to articulate what was swirling all jumbled inside her head. "It's about Damon."

She saw it register, that second of flickering recognition and reaction before he clamped down on his emotions and closed off from her.

"I know I'm a part of whatever game he's playing with you, I know that. But lately, I've been feeling . . . confused."

"Is this you?" he asked lowly. "Or has he done something to you?"

"No, not . . . I don't think," she sighed, then stopped, put her hands to her face in frustration and ran them through her hair to fall back into her lap. In a stronger voice, she continued. "When you told me you were going to leave, after I dropped off Bonnie, I went back to old Fell's Church to see Damon. I asked him to convince you to stay."

"Elena—"

"He said he would get you to stay in Mystic Falls if I let him feed from me." She looked up at him again. "I did. It wasn't a big deal, really . . . at first. But nothing is clear anymore. Things aren't so black and white for me right now." She came to her feet and moved toward him, even as her eyes averted. "I know this is so wrong, to do this to you right now, and I don't want to make you think that I've done anything, or he's done anything . . . I just needed you to know. I can't stand this sick feeling in my chest, being weighed down by all these lies and half-truths. I don't want to hide anything from you. I just feel so—"

Abruptly, he cut her off by pulling her against him. He smoothed a hand over her hair and guided her head to rest in the crook of his shoulder as he held her. "Shh, Elena, calm down. You're alright."

She shook her head against him and grabbed on for dear life, screwing her eyes shut as tears leaked down her cheeks. "I just feel like I'm losing my mind. Everything is suddenly so . . . intense." She trailed off, pressing her face into his jacket. It began to ground her, ever so slowly. She could feel the pressure in her chest, the racing tempo in her mind and body easing.

He brushed her hair back over one shoulder as he hooked something around her neck. Her fingers came up to feel the vervain locket hanging around her neck once again. "Just to be safe," he murmured into her hair. "Don't take this off from now on, okay? Even if you're mad at me, keep it with you."

"I will."

Stefan left her curled in bed, hugging a pillow as she frowned into the darkness of her closed eyelids and struggled to center herself. He wished more than anything that there was something he could do for her, but she was in this by herself. Her own body was turning against her and there was nothing to be done about it. Depending on how she handled it, how her system took to the transition, either it would pass, or . . .

He wasn't sure how to feel about what was happening to her. At this second though, he was consumed with an undeniable rage, heated by a frustrating helplessness.

He sensed his brother in the upper-story master suite when he arrived and it took all of his restraint to keep from charging in there. But he did control himself. He held back and went down into the basement to retrieve the stock of O-negative donor blood, leftovers from Lexi, which he'd hidden away just in case an occasion such as this came up.

Damon was shaken awake by the sound of the front door slamming as Stefan returned. He knew from the sharp way Stefan's shoes collided with the floor as he headed down into the basement that he was seriously pissed.

He smirked, stretched, and rolled off the bed onto his feet. He'd been expecting this—the fallout—and he couldn't wait for a good fight, finally, to go down between them. Earlier was nothing—a spat. This though, this was serious.

But he wasn't in the mood to be staked again.

He wondered idly as he made his way out to the upstairs veranda—_they'll want to take this outside, so why not start there?_—what it was that triggered his brother's snap. Obviously something to do with Elena . . . and from that thought, it wasn't much of a jump to the source.

_So she finally fessed up, huh. _He knew this was going to take awhile for Stefan to simmer down from, and getting in a decent beating would speed the process up quite substantially. _Damn_, he thought, leaning back against the wrought-iron rail and folding his arms as he settled in to await Stefan's entrance. He had a feeling he was about to take one for the team, so to speak. Stefan had a bone to pick and if Damon wanted to avoid any more permanent damage between them, he'd just have to let his brother work it out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Elena woke lying beside Bonnie on the living room sofa. She, Bonnie, and Jeremy headed out to school, exchanging less than two words per every fifteen minutes until the three went their separate ways to class. Elena daydreamed her way through the entire day, only without the daydreams, and found herself sliding into the passenger side of Bonnie's blue Prius with a relieved sigh. Finally, the day was over.

Elena laid her head against the window as Bonnie drummed her fingers over the steering wheel and pulled out of the school parking lot. "I told Caroline we'd meet her at the Grill tonight."

Elena opened one eye. "I didn't hear that."

"Sorry El, but you _really_ need to get out. Your funk isn't going to go away on its own. You've got to chase it out of you."

"Can't you just exorcise it out?" she drawled.

"I am not amused."

"Good. Now you know how I feel."

"Elena, please. Caroline is very excited about our first outing all together since she and Matt officially became a couple."

"I must've missed the memo."

"You've been too busy with yourself lately."

Elena grimaced at her. "_Ouch_."

"_Well_." Bonnie raised her brow insistently and turned the Prius onto Elena's street. "It's true. Don't tell me you can't drag yourself out for one night. We don't even have to stay that long, just a few hours."

Elena groaned and climbed out of the car as Bonnie shifted into park in her driveway. "I don't wanna." She pouted all the way to the door before it became too much work.

"Well, too bad, because you're going."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm no—hey! Fine, walk away. But I mean it, I'm not . . ." _Four hours later_: "Why are you doing this to me?" Elena grumbled as Bonnie grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the car, then proceeded to shove her all the way across the Mystic Grill parking lot.

The second she stepped over the threshold, a warm gush of air greeted her. It was crowded tonight. The lights were dim and toasty and the level of chatter remained at a soft background level she could appreciate. Elena weaved through the people congregating around her as she followed Bonnie to a corner table not far from the bar.

"See!" she exclaimed. "It's good, is it not?"

Elena shrugged; her belligerence was already halfhearted. "It's alright."

"Finally!" a shrill voice echoed from behind them. Elena turned to look over her shoulder to see her bubbly blonde friend tugging Matt behind her towards them as he dragged his feet and stuffed his free hand into his letterman jacket. "Where have you been?" Caroline stopped beside them and stared down, annoyed. "You made us wait."

Elena opened her mouth, but Bonnie jumped in first. "I said we'd stop by. I didn't say when. Sorry."

Caroline glanced suspiciously between the girls before she rolled her eyes and huffed. "Whatever. You're here now, and that's what counts." Then she released Matt and rounded to plop down in the chair beside Bonnie.

Elena's eyes went from her to Matt when she felt his lingering presence standing over her. She found him looking down at her, his face flushed and his eyes dilated. "Hey Matt," she said hesitantly, licking her lips and fidgeting with her hands. "How've you been?" _What is going on? I thought we were past the post-breakup awkwardness_, she thought.

He just stared, looking in a haze, before he blinked. "Oh." He cleared his throat. "Okay. You know how it is," he said with a stiff shrug.

Elena thought her responding smile was pleasant enough, but when she looked away, she could still feel him hovering. By the time her attention drew back to him, the other two girls had noticed his frozen state as well. She lifted a brow at him and narrowed her eyes a bit quizzically. "Aren't you gonna sit down?"

"Huh?" His voice was huskier than usual, Adam's apple bobbing anxiously. "Oh, yeah . . ." His gaze jumped from one girl to the other before he nodded his head vigorously and rounded the table, stiffly lowering himself into the chair between Caroline and Elena.

She nodded slowly and turned to Bonnie, trying to dismiss the awkward tension, while Caroline leaned into him with narrowed eyes and whispered, "What is wrong with you?"

He jumped, shook his head as if it would dispel whatever had taken hold of him, and licked his lips and swallowed. "Nothing; I'm fine, totally fine. Just . . . is it hot in here? I feel really hot. I think I'm gonna go—"

"No." Caroline jumped, slapped her hand down on his arm over the table, holding him there. "You're fine. Just take off the jacket."

Elena resisted the urge to get up and run from this weird moment. Instead, she focused on Bonnie's face, silently communicating with her best friend as she waited for the couple across from them to get it together.

"Whoa," a deep voice called from behind them. "Elena Gilbert?" The sandy-haired senior from her creative writing class stopped beside their table, staring down at Elena with a raised brow and pursed lips as he whistled under his breath and scanned her. "You look amazing."

Elena shifted and frowned, looking away. "Thanks."

"No, I mean it." He bent down and rested the drink he was carrying on the table near her. Without hesitation, he slipped his hand into the open purse that hung on the back of her chair and pulled out with her cell cradled in his palm.

"_Hey_ . . ." she started.

But he was finished and handing it back to her with a wink before she could work up a temper. "Call me. We'll hook up." With that and nothing else, he swaggered off through the crowd, leaving a perplexed and slightly offended Elena to stare after him.

"Well, that was odd."

"_Ugh_, tell me about it," Caroline scoffed. "He didn't even look at me." Her eyes went from the senior's back to Matt, waiting. When he didn't react, her manicured brow pulled down unhappily.

Bonnie leaned into Elena. "What is going on?" she whispered.

"What?" Elena gave her a genuine blank face.

"Uh, _hello_?"

Elena shook her head and Caroline groaned. "I think she's talking about the _Twilight Zone_ fact that since you walked in, pretty much every guy here has been drooling in this direction." She paused to kick Matt under the table and sent him a vindictive look. "My boyfriend included." Then she turned back to Elena. "I mean, jeez. What—did a 'Starring Elena' sex-tape come out that I'm not aware of or has the male population of this town collectively lost their minds?"

Elena pulled back and squared her shoulders as Matt ducked and pretended to be looking anywhere but at her, meanwhile Bonnie and Caroline's gazes were burning into her. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She tried to laugh it off and gave Caroline a wryly incredulous look before her eyes started darting around the room. They were right. Most of the guys around them were staring right at her, dark eyes and parted lips. It was unnerving.

"I'm gonna go get us some drinks, while you guys recover from the dose of insanity that's infected you." Before any of them reacted, Elena swung to her feet and weaved through the bodies as quickly as she could manage without barreling. She found a nearly desolate corner of the long stretch of bar and leaned her side against it as she waited for Ben to finish tending to the trio of flirty girls down at the other end.

"Wow," she heard someone breathe out as they passed by.

Then an elbow bumped into her spine and Elena twirled, ready to snap at the clumsy jerk. She came face to face with Tyler Lockwood and lost her voice. The air escaped her lungs sharply and her face slackened as something electric rippled through her, a jolt of sorts. Their eyes locked and something warm and sickening coiled in her stomach. She suddenly felt suffocated, like all the oxygen had just been sucked out of the room. She pressed a hand to her heart as the shortness of breath made her head spin. It felt like her chest was constricting.

"Sorry Elena," he strangled out, palpably snapping out of it and backing away from her as quickly as he could. He stumbled over someone and spun, practically running out of the Grill to get away from her.

Elena stared after him with wide eyes, molten liquid and feverish. Something unfamiliar inside of her screamed out. Her cheeks were burning and when the air finally came back, she sucked it in greedily and turned to double over onto the bar, hanging her head down onto her forearms and screwing her eyes shut until the room stopped spinning.

"Gilbert," someone called. She took in one more concentrated breath and weakly lifted her head to see Ben the bartender leaning toward her in concern. "You okay?"

Her eyes fell closed as she nodded to him and meekly waved a hand in gesture, holding up four fingers. "Get me . . ." She trailed off, throat dry. She was wobbly on her feet and didn't really give a damn about what it was she was supposed to be doing. "Forget it."

"Gilbert . . ." he called after her when she spun and ran out the door.

Out in the fresh air, a chilly gust of wind smacked her in the face and Elena felt instantly like a drowning weight had been lifted off her chest. Even still, her knees buckled and she found herself leant back against the ivory-stucco of the building underneath the shadowed awning of the front lot. She picked her head up off the wall and moved her eyes from one side to the other, taking in the packed parking lot under moonlight, realizing with an uneasy sense of awareness that she wasn't alone.

There were two figures huddled close to one another near a maroon SUV a few spaces away from where she was standing. They were staring at her, captivated, looking as if she herself was emitting a wonderful glow like the moon above them. And as illogical as it was, that's how she felt. She felt like she was glowing. She felt faint, and sick, and confused. And yet, overall, she felt buzzed with a pleasant tingling that spread through her, deeper than bone-deep. It was soul deep. It was her core, and it was outstretching in ethereal tendrils.

Elena brought her hands up to her face and held them there before her unfocused eyes for a long second before she gingerly touched her face, dragging the length of her fingers down her features before moving up again, to her hair, and drawing them over and down through the tousled strands. By the time the last few strands of silky chocolate tresses slipped from between her fingers, the figures had approached, one on either side of her. They boxed her in and stepped into the unflattering fluorescent light she was standing under.

It took a moment longer than it should have for her brain to settle into recognition. Their faces were easily familiar to some part of her. They were boys from school, juniors, in her class. They'd never glanced her way but once between the two of them, and she hadn't paid attention either way, but right now . . . they were looking at her as if their wet dream had just stepped out of the pages of Maxim magazine and into three dimensions, beckoning them to her without a word, a gesture, a thought.

Elena swallowed, pushing down the strangeness, and recovered her mind. "Can I help you?" she drawled unwelcomingly.

The one on her left—Johnny, she recalled—pulled his hands from his jacket and took a small step closer. "Elena, right?" The other one was suddenly at her side, gliding a light touch down her arm, making her jolt and tear away from the both of them.

She was headed for the entrance to the Grill when a pair of hands wrapped around her biceps and forced her to a stop. Her heart leapt as she was pulled back into a hard chest and the hands on her arms turned bruising. On instinct, she stomped her heel down onto the toe of his boot, then rammed her elbow back into his stomach. When she turned and ran, she found herself knocked sideways into the wall, and she slumped for a second, just a second, but it was all they needed to pounce on her, boxing her in again and grabbing at her from both sides. She wasn't going anywhere.

"Get your hands off of me!" she snarled, jerking away from Johnny as he took the hand that wasn't restraining her and tried to cup her face. He bent down toward her and Elena rammed her knee up into his groin. She got backhanded by his friend in response and fire exploded through her jaw and mouth.

Hands grabbed her face, pulling her closer. "Shh," one of them murmured in a placating voice that made her stomach roil. "You're so beautiful."

"So fucking incredible."

"Stay with us."

"We need you."

"Hey!" Elena's struggles stilled as Matt jerked Johnny off of her and slammed him up against the wall with his hands curled in the collar of his jacket. He swung his fist and smashed it into Johnny's face. Johnny's friend let Elena go and she scrambled out of the way as he charged Matt, catching him with a sucker punch to the kidney.

"Ben!" Caroline shouted inside from the open doorway. She snapped her head back to the fight and shrieked as Matt slammed his fist into the other one's nose, then forced him down and kneed him in the stomach. Johnny caught him from the side and Matt was rammed into the grille of a Dodge truck.

Johnny pulled back, preparing for another sucker punch, when his arm was jerked away from its destination and twisted sharply behind his back, forcing him quickly to his knees at the hands of Ben, who was gripping a Louisville slugger in his other hand.

After chasing the two boys off, Ben turned to Matt and offered him a helping hand, dragging the quarterback to his feet as he swiped at the blood on his chin. Caroline rushed to his side the second the violence was over.

Behind her, Bonnie stepped out further into the lot, frowning into the shadows all around them. "Where'd Elena go?"

She cut through the woods, not worried about getting lost or what monsters lurked in the darkness waiting to rip out her throat. She just walked through the trees, impatient and upset. It took her almost an hour till she left the thicket of hardwood and came out to the clearing on the land of The Salvatore Boarding house.

Walking across the lawn, she slowed her determined pace to a meander and frowned as she caught sight of the broken glass scattered over the grass. Around it were dried pools of blood. She stepped around the mess and went for the front door, hesitating again as she took in the rest of the disarray.

The door was left ajar. She pushed through it and stepped into the house, not really giving a damn about knocking or waiting for permission or anything of that other crap. She strode down the foyer hall and kept on walking through the damage until she found them.

Elena stepped into the parlor, stopping just beyond the entryway, and her eyes found each of them with a measure of self-control. Her emotions were an unpredictable storm raging inside of her and any little thing was endanger of setting them off.

Damon was perched lazily against one of the oriel windows, absentmindedly sloshing a glass of liquor in his hand. His eyes were downcast and remained that way even when his body tensed at her arrival. Across from him sat Stefan, in a reading chair, a drink in his hand as well. He too had his eyes immovably fixed on a spot of nothingness. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. It enveloped her the second she stepped into it and threatened to suffocate. The silence was deafening. The stillness was even more unnerving.

And the damage to each of their clothing wasn't beyond her notice. But really, the conclusion she came to settled instantly in the back of her mind as momentarily unimportant.

"Do you know what's happening to me?" she asked them in a hard voice, her eyes not focusing on either man, simply gliding slowly between them.

Damon tipped his glass to his lips and as he swallowed languidly, his eyes rolled up to her. It was only after his gaze focused that his attention piqued. With an arched look, he demanded, "What happened to your face?"

At that, Stefan snapped to alert and spun around in his chair to look at her. His brow drew tightly down and his eyes narrowed. She arched back in surprise as he appeared beside her, took her chin in his hand and turned her face up to him. He drew his thumb over the corner of her lip and she hissed, jerking away from him and flinging hair into a curtain around her face. Her hand trailed lightly over her lip. She could feel the cut without a touch. But when her fingertips trailed upward, along the line of her jaw, she realized there was a decent bruise forming there.

"Answer my question," she deflected.

"No," Damon said at the same time Stefan said, "Yes."

Elena gave each a stark look and lifted an eyebrow, lips thinning. "Which is it?"

The brothers glanced at each other. Damon tipped the glass to his lips again, silent, as Stefan turned back to her with a grim expression. "We do know what's happening to you."

She took a step back, distancing herself from him so she could regard them both coolly with arms folded over her chest and face shutdown. "Care to share?"

Stefan took a slow unnecessary breath and tucked his hands into his pockets as he looked at her. "The attack . . ."

"_We went hunting . . . Lycan. You know . . . the big beastie that mutilated you."_

_It dipped down and nuzzled its snout into the macabre mess of her stomach. _

_The creature clamped its jaw down over her side and she cried out, sparks exploding as its teeth sunk into her._

Elena's eyes jumped to Damon, and when she saw the confirmation there, she backed another step away, shaking her head. "You're saying that thing, the werewolf, what's happening to me is because that thing bit me."

"Took you long enough," Damon drawled, downing the glass and sauntering casually to the liquor cart for a refill.

"Elena," Stefan began. "I know this is difficult to process, but—"

"Process?" she snapped. Her eyes widened. "I'm not processing anything." She took another step away from him and shook her head again. "You're trying to tell me that everyone has been freaking out around me the past few days and I've been feeling a little out of sorts, because I'm turning into a werewolf? Yeah, okay, no, not happening . . ."

"Elena—"

"You're wrong." Still shaking her head and backing away with a stubborn set to her jaw, she tore her eyes away from them.

Elena turned on her heel and darted out of the house.

When Stefan went to follow, Damon appeared in his path. "Leave her. She'll be back."

_Werewolf? A werewolf! A freaking werewolf? You've got to be kidding me! _

She ran through the woods, kept running, her mind raging an angry tirade, yelling at anyone and anything that popped into it, spewing blame this way and that, shaking her head at the ridiculous notions. She wasn't turning into a werewolf.

A real-life _grr . . . _full moon rising . . . furry, four-legged canine monstrosity.

That was just too absurd. She couldn't become a werewolf. She just couldn't. She didn't want to be a werewolf. In fact, she wanted to be a werewolf even less than she wanted to be a vampire. And that was little, very, very little . . . _nonexistent little_.

_They're insane_, she thought decidedly. _That simple: they're just wrong. _She coasted to a stop, gasping for breath and clutching at the stabbing pain in her side, and looked around to find herself standing at the edge of the Mystic Falls cemetery.

_Perfect_, she thought dryly, and stepped through the gate into the graveyard.

She moved through the headstones as softly as she could, as an owl sat perched on the high branch of a red maple not far away, golden eyes following her under the silvery moonlight. She found the granite stone she was looking for and lowered herself to the ground across from it.

"Hi Mom . . . Dad," she sighed. "Things have been pretty crazy lately. I mean, insane asylum crazy, not Grandma Beth crazy. Some days I just lie in bed waiting to wake up from this bizarre nightmare." She paused, folded her hands in her lap. "But I never do. Part of the time I'm not sure whether I want to or not." A soft peal of laughter escaped her, echoing through the graveyard and the owl cooed in reply. "Right now though, I'm really hoping this is a nightmare. This can't be happening. I mean—a werewolf?" she croaked. "That thing that attacked me . . . it _butchered_ me. It was the scariest thing I've ever seen . . . Damon included."

A bird flapped its wings as she sniffled and swiped at her cheek, a lone tear sliding down it as she blinked back the rest. A raven came to sit on the headstone beside her and stared down like it could sense her turmoil. The owl cooed again.

"Yeah," she glared, "Yuck it up." Then she turned back to her parents' grave and fell apart, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. "I don't wanna be like that thing, that monster." She sniffled again, the cold air stung the inside of her nostrils and she covered her sleeve over her nose to protect it. "And I don't wanna be alone. But sense you've gone that's all I feel. I know it's stupid. I've got Jeremy, and Aunt Jenna, and Bonnie. But there's this hollowness inside of me that I can't get rid of. It's swallowing me whole."

"_You're not alone." _The voice whispered its way through the crevices of her mind, a comforting caress of warmth she could almost feel across her skin. Her lips tugged gently into a small smile, the sting of the gash fading as the warmth spread through her. Her eyes went up to the starry sky.

Elena swiped at her face again and took a deep shuddery breath. "I'll come back soon," she told the grave, then rose solidly to her feet and turned out of the cemetery.

With her hands in her pockets, she made the walk back to the boarding house with a quiet mind. When she moved back into the house, a rush of warmth replaced the bite of the chilly night, instantly.

She returned to the parlor to find the Salvatore brothers where she had left them and hesitated in the doorway. Both of their gazes rolled up to her, took her in, and waited. Instead of explaining, she stepped down into the sunken room and rounded the center sofa, sinking down onto it with a soft sigh as they watched her, one on her left in a reading chair and the other on her right on the loveseat. She brought her legs up and folded them under her, resting her head back against the sofa.

After a few moments, Damon and Stefan turned their eyes away from her and returned their gazes to various points of the abyss that swirled around the three of them, enveloping them wholly.

Elena lowered onto her side and curled up, letting her eyes drift closed. Nothing was right. Things were so screwed up. Nothing was settled. Things happening, things happened, things to come. But right now, Elena was exhausted, and lonely, and being here, between them, spread comforting warmth through her. It chased away the fear to a point that she was barely aware it was there. She needed that. She needed _this_. Ironically . . . _this_ being peace with her place in between the warring brothers that had her.

Because she knew now for sure that they _did_ have her.


	6. What Lies Beneath

**Entry 6: What Lies Beneath**

**Part I**

Elena woke to the sound of mourning doves crying.

She groaned softly and turned over, flinging a hand over her face against the sunlight streaming over her. But it was futile. She was awake and duty called, beckoning her away from sleep. Her eyes fluttered open and squinted. She scrubbed the stickiness from her lashes with the heel of her palm and pushed herself up.

Taking a look around, it took her a second to remember where she was—on the leather sofa in the Salvatore's parlor. Elena leaned back against the arm as she tried to untangle her legs from the puffy comforter thrown over her. The pillow she'd slept on slipped from the sofa and dropped to the Oriental rug. A robin sang outside the wide-paned window across from her and Elena yawned, stumbling reluctantly to her feet and toward the kitchen.

Her plaid pajama pants hung loosely on her hips and billowed around her legs as she padded into the kitchen, bare feet over chilly checkered linoleum. Her hair was mussed, swaying over her back and shoulders in tangled waves. And because of the light little tank top that hugged her torso and left virtually everything else bare, she shivered when she pulled open the stainless steel refrigerator and grabbed the leftover pot of coffee from last night.

She perched on a swivel stool at the island counter, stirring a spoon through the steaming maroon mug of hazelnut coffee and picking absentmindedly at a warm croissant when Damon entered from the archway behind her.

He came to lean a hip against the island between her stool and the empty one next to her, and as he slipped the mug from her hand and brought it to his mouth, her eyes went down to his socks, up his black trousers, and over the pallid lines of his torso where a navy blue shirt hung open. She liked the color on him, probably even better than his normal colors. There was only so much red and black she could take. She really didn't need even more reminders of blood and death around him.

Her eyes found his as he set the mug down and slid it back to her with a tilted head and a distasteful expression. "Where's Stefan?" she murmured, her voice still a bit hoarse from sleep.

Damon shrugged and looked away, casually slipping down into the stool beside her. "Out catching bunnies," he quipped, and then smirked as she paled and turned away from him uncomfortably.

Fingering her pastry, she swallowed. "How wrong is it that I'm more comfortable with your eating habits than I am his?"

"Because it's easier to strangle a helpless human than it is a helpless puppy," he said, grinning with an arm hooked over the curved back of his stool. Elena turned to glare at him. _He's such an evil bastard_, she thought. He raised his brow challengingly. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You don't have to intentionally put that kind of imagery in my head." He shrugged. "And why is that, anyway?" She frowned. "I value human life more than animals. I do, really."

"It has nothing to do with values, princess. No matter how helpless a human is against me, they're never innocent." He leaned toward her. "As a rule, innocence goes against human nature." His expression turned haughty. "So, looking at it that way, I'm not the monster in this scenario at all, now am I?"

She shook her head, tore off a large chunk of the croissant and stuffed it in her mouth. "It's way too early for this conversation."

Damon fluidly propelled himself from his seat to stand directly behind her, his hands settling lightly on the curves of her shoulders. His lips twitched as he felt her imperceptibly tense. Her fingers wrapped around the mug and brought it to her lips as a distraction. He hooked his fingers lightly over a clump of her dark locks and swept them over her other shoulder. Then he bent his knees and tilted his head forward, hovering near her ear, above the warm curve of her throat.

"How were your dreams?"

"Vivid . . . and exhausting," she said, refusing to physically respond to him.

"They'll get better after your first phase." He brought his arms over her shoulders and caught the edge of the island in his hands.

Elena carefully swiveled her stool around and arched against the back of it to distance them some few inches. Her knees brushed the outer sides of his legs as she hooked her feet on the lower rung of her stool. As she clenched her fingers around the edge of her padded seat, Elena locked her jaw in anger.

"I'm not going to wait that long."

With an annoyed sigh, he rolled his eyes and leaned down, bringing their faces even closer. She stiffened further but held still as their eyes locked intently, a battle of wills. "There's no cure for lycanthropy. The sooner you accept that, the easier the transition will be for you."

Her shoulders squared unconsciously and her chin angled up at him. "I'm not going to transition!" she hissed. Then she calmed. "I don't care what you think, Damon. I will find a way around it." She slithered off the stool and onto her feet, forcing him to straighten as their bodies pressed flush. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get to school." She sidestepped him and stomped into the parlor.

She didn't acknowledge him watching her as she found her pile of clean clothes flung in a reading chair near the sofa and started tugging them on. She could've hidden in one of the many washrooms in the house to dress, but really, she was too irritated and prideful to bother. If he wanted to watch her, he could, but he damn well knew by now that he wasn't going to do any more than that . . . Or so she thought, stubbornly.

Once she was dressed in her low-rider jeans and emerald-green blouse, Elena pulled her shoes on and grabbed her bag on her way out.

"You know you shouldn't." His bored voice filled her ears, stopping her in the dim foyer.

Elena turned to see him through the open archway, leaning lazily on the back of the sofa, arms folded and crossed ankles stretched out in front of him as he eyed her. Her brow furrowed and her coral lips thinned. Damon smiled wryly, even as his eyes darkened on her.

"Stefan will be there."

"He may be able to keep back the affected male population, but he can't control _you_."

"I've managed to handle myself just fine this last month."

"Elena." He sighed patronizingly and shook his head. "It's the first phase of the full moon tonight." His face darkened, lips curved into a mischievous smirk. "You haven't felt anything yet."

A wave of dread rippled through her and she ignored it, instead taking lazy steps in his direction. When she reached him, Elena kicked his foot off the other ankle and stepped between his legs, and kept stepping until she was right up in his face. Her hands lowered to his thighs to steady herself as she stared evenly, enjoying the way he grappled to cover his uneasy surprise with disaffected amusement.

"Are you worried about me?" she asked, then furrowed her brow and made a wry face. "No, you can't be . . . because that would mean you actually care about something other than yourself."

He leaned into her till their mouths almost brushed, and when she settled a hand on his shoulder, he pulled back again. "If I was one to worry," he said quietly, "it would be for the poor bastards your frenzied pheromones are throwing for a loop."

"You and Stefan seem to be the only ones not bothered."

He arched a dark eyebrow and smiled thinly, his irises going from cool jade to molten emerald before her eyes. "The vampire in us," he murmured. "We're more resilient . . . but not unaffected. Lucky for you, my self-restraint is nearly endless."

"Lucky for me," she drawled, pushed away from him, spun on her heel, and stalked toward the door in impatience.

Damon chuckled huskily to himself as she flung open the front door. "You have no idea."

"I'll cope," she snapped, her angry voice punctuated by the slam of the door behind her.

She stomped out to the driveway and slid quickly into her silver Ford Escape. She took to driving everywhere about two weeks ago, after the second time of being accosted by out-of-towners passing by on the road while she was walking.

She found that while the resistance of people that knew her kept her relatively safe, strangers had no such qualms of fighting the urges that ran through them at her presence. She hated this thing—this sickness that seemed to turn everyone around her into depraved deviants with no self-control or reason. There were very few who seemed able to cope with it. People like Matt.

She made it to school without a hitch, and by the time she was walking into the side entrance from the quad, she was as composed as she was going to get. After stopping by her locker, Elena turned a corner and found Bonnie and Stefan standing together, waiting for her.

"Morning," Bonnie greeted, falling into step beside her.

Stefan moved to her other side and looked down at her as they walked, concern etched into his handsome features. She could see the questions coming, so she headed them off. "Have either of you seen Jeremy today?"

Bonnie nodded. "He rode with me. I left him in the cafeteria. Why?"

"Just wondering," she said with a dismissive shrug.

"You're worried about him," Stefan concluded, the question in his eyes if not his voice.

"Not for any sane reason," she sighed. "I think I've been worrying about everyone lately."

"He's fine," Bonnie assured. "But he did want to talk to you about something. Wouldn't tell me what."

"I'll find him at lunch."

"This is my stop," Bonnie said, waving a book-filled arm toward the open doorway of her first period class. She turned her eyes onto Elena and searched her for a drawn-out second. "I'll see you in third."

"Yeah . . ." Elena nodded absently, and continued on down the hallway with Stefan as Bonnie disappeared inside the classroom.

"Did Damon upset you this morning?"

Elena blinked and turned to him. "Huh? Oh . . ."

"I thought I'd be back before you woke."

She shrugged. "I'm used to it. Besides, he's been . . . better . . . these last few weeks."

Stefan looked away, but she wasn't blind to the tension in his body, the unhappy set of his jaw, the dark look that flickered over his face. His reaction was always the same when she spoke of Damon with anything other than contempt, which was a fifty-fifty occurrence lately. But she wasn't going to trudge it up if he wasn't. She had other things to stress about.

He tucked his straightened fingers into the pockets of his dark jeans as they turned a corner. "He was right, though." Her head snapped back to him. "You should've stayed inside today. It's the first day of the full moon. We talked about—"

"And this cycle lasts three nights," she cut in. "I'm not missing three days of school, spending them locked up in the house, mine or yours."

"But you will have to tomorrow."

She turned her face away and sagged. "I know." They stopped in front of her AP Lit classroom and turned toward each other. "You said sometimes the first change doesn't even happen until the third night."

"Yes." He nodded, but his eyes said he was humoring her. "But—"

"Yeah, I know." She looked into the classroom, which was rapidly filling.

Stefan sensed her discomfort and took a step backward. "I'll see you after class." With that, he turned and walked away.

Elena watched him go, knowing he'd be right there waiting when she came out of class, as he had all week long, for every period through every day. Inside the classroom, she had the teachers to keep order. The structure of it seemed to keep the boys around her—and some of the girls—from being stirred into a dangerous frenzy.

Her only male teacher was Mr. Saltzman, and so far, Alaric had somehow managed to escape it. _Thank God_ . . . He spent a lot of nights these last weeks over at her house with Aunt Jenna. Elena cringed imagining what a mess she could make if he had been affected by her. She didn't want to picture it.

Shaking it off, she took her seat in the back of the class and settled in as Ms. Garner walked in and sealed the door shut behind her, silencing the buzzing students.

She met up with both Bonnie and Stefan for third period with Mr. Saltzman's history class. When the bell rang, the three of them made their way out to the quad for lunch. On the way to an edge table, she spotted her brother across the lawn and separated herself from her bodyguards to go to him.

Elena came up behind Jeremy and tapped him on the shoulder, drawing his attention away from the chicken sub he was attacking hungrily. He set the sandwich down on the spread-out wrapper and swallowed quickly. "Hey Sis . . . Jump anybody yet?"

"The day's still young," she drawled, playfully narrowing her eyes at him as she slipped onto the bench beside him and rested her elbow on the table, hooking her palm over the side of her neck. He laughed and turned back to his sub, took another bite and chomped. Elena sobered. "Have you found anything?"

Jeremy sighed, set the sub down again, but didn't look back at her. "I was up half the night reading through Jonathon's journal." He grimly shook his head at her hopeful look. "He goes on half his lifetime about vampires, more on the witch trials. But there's barely a reference here and there of the lycans."

"You said he wrote about an encounter with a grouping of them though. Didn't he learn anything from that?"

"El, it goes on for three pages on how to kill them, but there's nothing that even suggests that they were once human. Jonathon was sure it was a bloodline thing, all in the family. He thought they were born, not turned."

"No, yeah . . . It's both as far as those two know."

"I thought you weren't listening to them?"

Elena narrowed her eyes at him. Fingers furled into her palms under the table. "They don't think there's a way to reverse it, but they both admitted that they don't know all that much about lycans. Sorry, but I'm not going to just give up because of what they believe to be impossible. I thought vampires and witches were impossible up till September. _Someone_ has to know something."

Jeremy looked ready to argue, but he bit his tongue and looked into the distance, thoughtful. "You know, all of the council leaders kept journals. Maybe one of the others knew more about it than Jonathon." He looked across the quad and made eye contact with Bonnie. "Did she talk to her Grams?"

Another surge of anger enveloped her. Her jaw worked back and forth as she reined it in. "Yeah, and she refused to talk to Bonnie about it. She said it 'wasn't any concern of ours.'" Jeremy turned to her with a wry look at the venom in her tone. Elena noticed his stare and shrugged. "Bonnie told her I'd been infected and still she wouldn't tell her anything. All she said was to stay away from me. Can you believe that? She's supposed to be 'guiding' Bonnie through her growing powers. She probably knows more than anyone about all of this, and she won't even answer a few questions when my life's at stake. That old witch _never_ liked me. She's just being petty."

He bumped her with his shoulder, knocking her to the side, and startled her out of her seething. "Elena. Get a grip, will ya?"

Her hand darted out, sudden as quicksilver, and coiled around his wrist. He grimaced and buckled under her bruising grip as she leaned in slowly, teeth grinding against each other and hazel eyes deadly calm within the storm of hostility swirling beyond them.

"_Elena_," Jeremy grunted, his pained gaze darting uncertainly between her grip on him and her frighteningly disconnected eyes.

"Elena, stop." The low voice came from behind them, filled her ears and made her jerk away from her brother and spin till her eyes connected with Stefan's guarded features. The anger flooded out of her in a liquid stream of lava with a whooshing exhalation.

She let out a hiss of breath and pulled her hands in on herself, wrapped them around her midriff to keep them sedated, and lowered her head as she swiveled back toward Jeremy. He was rubbing at the spot she'd gripped and looking at her with abjection that made her stomach sink.

"I'm sorry, Jer."

Elena slid from the bench and hurried away, ashamed, only stopping once she was out of the quad. She felt someone behind her and turned to see Stefan following her.

"No," she said with a shake of her head, holding her hand up. "No. Don't come with me."

He frowned, reluctance rippling through him. "Elena, I know you're upset, but it's best if you don't go off on your own right now."

"I can handle myself," she snapped, then forcibly softened. "I just need to be alone. Go back."

She turned and left on quick feet. As she walked the streets, she rubbed at her temples and struggled with the hammering behind her eyes. Her heartbeat was unsteady, thumping uncomfortably in her chest.

While she made her way down Laurel Avenue, her eyes began to sting and a tear tracked down her cheek. She went right by the storefronts, the patio café, the drugstore, the market. She kept going, ducking her head down and avoiding everyone she weaved between. At the corner, when she went to turn down the beaten path that would take her by the cemetery, she hesitated at the white street sign, looked up, and laid eyes on the ebony crow that was perched atop it, its eyes as dark and fathomless as starless space and staring at her with an intent focus that set her nerves on edge.

Instead of picking up a rock and throwing it at the bird, or yelling to scare it away, she swiped at her eyes and curled the corners of her lips up the tiniest bit, moving past it and continuing on her way. She glanced over her shoulder a few times as she got farther away, and still it sat watching her.

Past the wrought-iron fence and the limestone angel standing tall and reaching for the sky, Elena traipsed through the graveyard, between headstones, and over the first hill into the privacy of the cemetery's core. Over the next ridge was the section Miranda and Grayson Gilbert were buried. And though that was her ultimate destination, Elena meandered with a need to keep moving. As if she could outrun her problems.

Every day that passed brought more darkness, less light, a bleaker future. And worst of all, beyond the intention of _not_ turning into a werewolf, she had no clear purpose anymore. She felt . . . lost.

Dewy grass squished under her feet as a cloud of mist whorled around her legs. She looked down and frowned. It came in so suddenly. And the way it was dancing around her as she moved, more and more kept coming, whishing like a river without gravity. It reminded her of something. Of the first day of school, in this very cemetery, under an overcast sky, with her diary, at her parents' grave . . . the very first time she saw the crow.

And then it clicked.

"Damon," she called, looking around her as she came to stand still by the old Cromwell crypt. The mist swirled around her before trailing in a wispy stream toward the east. She spun and followed it with her eyes to a looming double headstone with miniature gargoyle arches, and there he was, perched casually atop the stone with a self-satisfied smirk on his ruby lips and an entertained gleam in his vivid green eyes.

Tingles of heightened awareness spread through her, tickling her nerve endings and making her uneasy. "Added stalker to your resume, have you?" she teased, to cover the anxiety running through her.

"Please," he scoffed, slipping down onto his feet and striding toward her. "I forayed into that a dozen of decades ago."

"How long have you been trailing me?"

He came to stand in front of her, so close her heartbeat picked up again. "What do you think?"

"Did Stefan put you up to this?" He didn't answer, just kept staring. She sighed, pursed her lips, and nodded. "So when he can't watch me, you do from afar, and I never have to know you're there." Her voice was bitter. The aggravation started rising inside again, her cheeks reddening with it.

He drew a knuckle across her brow, dusting dark strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear. "We warned you, you can't trust yourself right now. What's the harm? You get your independent aloneness without the risk."

"But I'm _not_ alone. I never have time to think anymore." She blinked, and realized she was leaning back against the crypt as he towered over her. She didn't remember moving. Her fingers came up and curled around the locket resting over her heart. He noticed and lifted a brow. "Just checking," she murmured.

Damon's red lips stretched into a slow smile, smug and satisfied. He planted his hands on the stone on either side of her head and Elena's heart leapt at being trapped. He brought the pad of his thumb under her red-rimmed eye and caressed away the remnants of wetness. She leaned into the touch and let her eyes fall closed. The warmth and closeness, the touch—it was comforting. It chased away the confusion and turned the fogginess in her mind into something less troubling, more serene.

But she shouldn't . . .

Elena turned her head to the side. "Don't."

He sighed, quietly exasperated. "What is it?"

"I'm not up to fighting you off right now. You know that. You're taking advantage."

"Did you expect anything less?"

She turned back to him and jutted up her chin. "Yes."

He searched her for a moment before a sharp laugh burst from him. "You're always surprising me." He trailed a fingertip down her cheek and pursed his lips. "A bit of what I like about you."

She shook her head. "You don't."

"I do."

"You're a liar," she spat. "You're manipulative, and conniving, and all that matters to you is . . . is . . . I don't even know what." She gave him a good hard shove at the amusement dancing in his eyes. "Misery!" she snapped triumphantly. "Yes, misery is all that matters to you. I think if you weren't so miserable yourself you wouldn't be so set on tormenting everyone around you." She followed him, shoved him again, and the back of his legs smacked into a headstone.

The laughter in his eyes died down as he saw the fury build in her like a roaring fire, exploding and flowing out and into him. It was breathtaking. "Insightful," he quipped, but his tone was strained.

She shoved him again and he fell back over the stone, catching himself before he could crash. She was against him, on her toes, seething as a chain of fireworks went off in her eyes.

"You're a bastard. And now is _not_ the time to play this game with me." He laughed and her hand came up of its own accord, colliding with his jaw and snapping his head to the side with more strength than she should have. "So don't look at me like that. Don't touch me like that. And don't you dare say things like that to me right now!"

He lifted a dark brow at her, the calm in the eye of her storm. "Like what?"

She shoved him again and this time he caught her wrists and overpowered her with little effort. She tugged, but he refused to let go. They stared each other down, neither relenting.

"Like I'm _something_," she said fiercely, under her breath, so close he could feel the rush of hot air, ". . . and not just the perfect pawn to play with."

His patience snapped. In one swift motion, he spun them and bent her back over the headstone, enclosed both of her wrists in his palm and wrapped his other hand around her throat. Then he watched her fight the instinct to struggle as he smothered the flames, bringing her down to a smoldering burn.

"Honestly, if you didn't look like Katherine, I wouldn't have hesitated in ripping your throat out the first time we met."

He leaned into her and smirked as she choked off any reaction he spurred. Her fingers wrapped over his hand at her throat, digging between her skin and his in an attempt at a foothold. She shifted on her feet and he brought a knee between her legs, pinning her, before she could do anything stupid.

She was clinging to the fury now, using it to suffocate the irrational hurt, and basking in the resentment that settled in her chest. Her nails dug into his hand punishingly. "Let go," she ground out.

He tilted his head and brushed his thumb over her lower lip, ducking down like he might kiss her, but only hovering there, taunting as the emerald of his irises was flooded with crimson.

"But you do . . . so I didn't. Things escalated, and now we're too involved for me to end it that way. So I'm at a loss on what to do with you now."

"Involved in what?" she choked out, her face paling. The little oxygen he was allowing her was not enough to keep her conscious for long.

He drew his face away to study her for a moment, his brow furrowing in thought. "I'm not sure yet. It's not that simple."

"I can't breathe."

"I know."

She pulled at his hand again. "So your point . . . is that . . . Do you even have a point?"

He rolled his eyes up in exasperated irritation. "My point, dear Elena, is that I don't have a point. I don't have a set design for you anymore. Obviously," he drawled, "things have changed."

Her brow drew down and her lips thinned. Absently, she brought a leg up and slid it over his knee, unpinning her lower half from him. "You're confused?"

"No." His eyes rolled up again before dropping back to hers. "Yes." His face darkened at that, as if he was just now admitting it to himself.

With one sudden jerk, he sidestepped as he tugged her forward and tossed her away from him. She sailed, stumbled, and caught herself on her hands and knees in the grass, coughing and gasping greedily for air. With a mien of indifference, he hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and turned toward her. Even with her back to him, he felt her intense pull trying to slither around him and suck him in.

"So, don't think you've got my motives figured out, princess. You don't . . . because _I_ don't."

"Duly noted," she croaked unhappily, pushing to her feet and leaning her back against a monument as she rubbed at her raw neck, glaring across at him with cold daggers.

"Well," he sighed, expelling all the negative energy in him, "now that that's settled . . . wanna tell me why you were spending your afternoon weeping in the graveyard?"

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Go to hell."

"Eventually."

She shoved away from the monument, straight and steady on her feet, and stormed away from him. Until he appeared out of nowhere in her path and she skidded to a graceless stop to avoid crashing into him.

"Move," she demanded.

He angled his head and stepped gently into her. "Come on, give it up. You know you want to. What's the matter?"

"Like it matters to you," she snapped, sidestepping him. He countered and they were right back where they started. "Damn it, Damon, I'm serious."

"Really?" he balked sarcastically. "'Cause, it kinda seems like you're—" She lashed out and he dodged easily, catching her hand and curling his own around it. "No, no, no. See, this is the part where we confer nicely now. We already did the violent part."

Gritting her teeth, Elena jerked her hand out of his grip and backed away. "You know Bonnie's grandmother?"

"We've never officially met." He let her get a yard away before he moved to join her again. "What's she done, hexed you?"

Elena's jaw twitched in anger. "She knows how to save me, but she won't tell us."

"You're not dying. You're just becoming—"

"—a monster," she spat.

He shrugged. "Makes life interesting."

"If I mattered at all to you, this wouldn't be a joke."

He took another step and she backed up. Bending his knees, Damon searched her face as he got closer, taking in every nuance of her being. "I wouldn't say that."

She bit her lip and fixed her eyes on a spot over his right shoulder. "Can't you make her tell the truth . . . use your compulsion thingy to find out how to fix me?"

An uncomfortable sickness niggled at him as he watched her. He didn't like the way she said that, the meekness that came over her, or the way her heart beat. Unthinking, he caught her chin in his hand and forced her to look up at him.

"You're not broken," he said darkly.

She swallowed and steadied her trembling lip, then looked up at him strongly. "I don't know much about your world, or those things, but I do know that I do not want to become something like that thing that attacked me."

Damon forced the tension from his body and slowly dropped his hand, forcibly lightening his demeanor. "It's only once a month. Think of it as severe PMS."

She hardened again. "I've been attacked five times in the past month. Five! This is sick."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. They were close calls, not real attacks. And this intensity only lasts until your first shift. After your first lunar cycle is over, it will settle down, and you'll be able to control it . . . for the most part."

"I don't want it!" she cried, shoving at him again. She swiped viciously at the tears that leaked down her cheeks and turned her face from him to hide it before locking their gazes evenly. "You can help me. But you won't . . . because none of this matters to you. Why should it?" She shrugged, a sad sort of bitterness enveloping her.

She left him there, staring off into the distance, plagued by something he couldn't or wouldn't put a name to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the last bell rang out through the corridors of the high school, Bonnie was already on her way to the parking lot. Her thoughts circled around Elena. She was worried, scared for her friend. She never came back after her freak-out at lunch. Bonnie contemplated heading over to her house, just in case she was there and not at the Salvatores, but she had something else to take care of first.

"Hey," she greeted Jeremy, who was leant against the passenger side of her Prius, waiting for her. "Just the boy I was looking for." She unlocked the car and tossed her books into the backseat. As they both slid inside, she turned to him with a serious look. "I need your help with something."

"What?" He frowned, suspicious.

"Ever done any breaking and entering?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jenna came home from class juggling a bag filled with frayed textbooks, a gas station coffee with too much sugar in it, and a stack of flyaway papers scribbled with barely legible notes on her term paper. Going up the porch steps, she caught the toe of her designer boot on the top stair, stumbled, and went flying.

She caught the coffee, just barely, and landed on her knees as the papers scattered and drifted with the sudden gust of wind that picked up the tree limbs in the yard.

"Jesus," she exclaimed, setting the coffee down on the porch and flailing to snatch back the papers running away from her.

"My God." Elena's voice floated up from behind her. Jenna turned to see her niece rushing up the walkway toward her, catching papers as she went. "What _are_ you doing?"

"Oh, just having a little fun."

Elena gathered the papers in one arm, hugged them to her chest, and came up beside her aunt, grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. "Bad day?"

"Just one of those," Jenna sighed, shaking her head and pushing her strawberry-auburn hair out of her face. They both bent and swept all the spilled things up and over to the wicker table, then plopped down simultaneously into the creaky white wicker chairs set around it. "So," she began, refocusing her splintered attention on her niece. "I didn't see you this morning."

Elena shifted in her seat and averted her eyes. "Yeah, I stayed over at Bonnie's. I would've let you know, but it wasn't planned. I should've called. Sorry."

"Nah, it's alright." She swatted a dismissive hand at her. "But if I can do the mom thing for a minute . . ." A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth. "Bonnie called looking for you last night. I told her you were up in your room. Obviously . . ." She left the rest unsaid as Elena blushed, caught in her lie.

"I didn't want to have to tell you this."

"Why?" Jenna propped an elbow on the table and cupped her chin, eyeing Elena intently. "You've started lying to me about where you're sleeping at night. I guess I'm officially mothering teenagers now."

Elena sighed, sunk into her chair, and ran a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry, Aunt Jenna. There's just a lot going on right now. But I shouldn't lie to you. I won't anymore." _Mostly_, she thought to herself. Because really, there were just some things she couldn't tell anyone. Vampires, werewolves, and witches were off-limits topics. But it surprised her how much she really wanted to be open with her aunt. The familiar pressure in her chest begged her to free herself of all these secrets eating away at her.

But Jenna looked at her and seemed to see right through her. Maybe she didn't get the whole picture—how could she?—but she got enough. "You've been spending an awful lot of time with the Salvatore brothers, especially considering the last I heard, you and Stefan had broken up."

Elena let out a soft sigh. She felt relieved. Jenna had brought it up, opened it up for her when Elena wasn't brave enough to come out and admit she needed to talk about it. Times like this, she remembered why she was always thought of Jenna as a big sister rather than an aunt.

"It's complicated."

"And you're confused and want to tell me about it." Jenna nodded. "Well, go on then."

"I really don't know where to begin."

"Okay, tell me this, are you and Stefan still broken up?"

Elena made a wry face. "Technically," she said. "I started out falling head over heels for Stefan, even though there were obviously things between us. A lot of the time those things made me want to run away. But I kept coming back, because I think . . . no, _I know_ I love him. But it's not that easy. There are a lot of reasons why I should stay away—far, far away. And then there's Damon."

"How much older is he, again?"

Elena couldn't help but laugh_. If you only knew_, she thought. "Not that much older, but that's not even on my radar. I started out kind of liking him. I mean, I was attracted to him, basically just as much as I was attracted to Stefan. Just in different ways. But then when I saw past the suave, charming mask and realized who he really is, I was . . ."

"Scared? Disappointed?"

"Repulsed," Elena finished.

Jenna sat back with two arched brows.

"Stefan is quiet and kind and noble." Her dreamy look darkened. "While Damon is a self-centered, hedonistic sadist with no regard for human life," she hissed. "He has no morality at all actually."

Jenna's lips twitched and she brought a hand up to hide her mouth, looking sympathetically toward her niece.

"Always smirking and taunting, all he does is cause trouble. He brings pain and misery wherever he goes and he enjoys it. Most of the time, I'm sure he has no heart, literally and figuratively."

Jenna waited in silence. She could hear the "but" coming.

"But sometimes he'll do something out of character, like helping me with Jeremy, and protecting me, and helping Stefan. And then I get confused. I start to think of him as a person, with feelings and emotion, someone capable of love. I mean, I know he _was_ capable of love. But after everything that happened to them both, specifically the ringer Katherine put them through, he seems to have killed off what little good he had left in him."

"Katherine was the old girlfriend that they both dated before she died, right?"

"The one and only," Elena cursed. The disdain that filled her at the mere thought of her long lost doppelganger was damn near suffocating. It was a resentment that had built over the last three months. She could see plainly now that what Katherine did to them affected them both, shaped each into the very different men they are now. It was no wonder she held such contempt for the Salvatores' sire.

"So, is Damon the reason you asked for time apart from Stefan?" Jenna wondered. "I can understand not wanting to be involved with a family like that. It was the smart choice. Though I'm sure I wouldn't have been as savvy about it. You know me. I'm a sucker for the bad boys, which is why I always end up getting my heart stomped on by jerks like Logan."

Elena held her tongue. It was easier to just let Jenna keep thinking whatever conclusion she came up with, because whatever Elena told her would never be the whole truth. How could she do that? Truth was a luxury she didn't have anymore. "What about Alaric?"

"Rick?" Jenna sighed. A pleasantly warm expression came over her features. She was like a lovesick schoolgirl and Elena couldn't help but grin. "I _really_ like him. I feel myself falling harder every time I see him. He's nice, handsome, smart, decent . . . an overall good guy. But he comes with major baggage. His wife was murdered a few years ago and they never found out who did it. He pretends to have moved on, but I know he hasn't. He still thinks about it, constantly. Maybe if they catch the guy someday, he'll be able to let it go. But I just don't know if it's a smart idea to go fall for this guy when there's something like that hanging over his head."

Elena straightened. "Oh my God," she murmured. "That's horrible."

"I know."

"How was she killed?"

"She was running in the park one night when she was attacked. He said it was the same route she took every morning and evening for two years. Then suddenly one night: _bam_. For awhile they thought it was an animal attack, but the coroner eventually found some kind of evidence that a human had been behind it. I don't know, maybe some wacko sicced his dogs on her or something. Just thinking about it gives me the creeps."

"My God." Elena ran a hand down her soft cheek. Her skin was cold to the touch. "I had no idea. He seems so—"

"Perfect?" Jenna supplied. Elena nodded. "He's very held together. You'd never know if something was wrong with him. I guess that's part of why I felt so drawn to him. When he opens up to me, it makes me feel special."

Elena moved to the edge of her seat to get closer to her aunt. She placed a hand lightly on Jenna's arm. "Just be careful."

Her brow furrowed playfully. "When am I ever careful?"

"Jenna, I'm serious. There are strange things going on in this town. It's not safe here anymore, and it won't be for a long while. So just keep that in mind and take care of yourself."

"I'm more worried about taking care of you and Jeremy." She sighed softly, a vulnerable look etching its way across her pretty features. "You seemed to be doing so well, and Jeremy was declining. I thought he was the one I needed to stress over. But now, he's picked himself up and seems to be fine. And something's going on with you, Elena."

"It's nothing major. I can handle it myself," she lied.

"You've become secretive, the lying, you're gone all the time. You're mood swings are scary and you even look different. I would say it was the change every girl has after she has sex, sure looks like it, but I know you haven't been a virgin in a long time."

Elena pulled back. "And how would you know that?"

"Your mom told me."

"What!"

"We're sisters, El. We tell each other everything." Jenna's face fell; her eyes went dull. "We told each other everything," she corrected herself somberly. Then she shook it off and forced herself back on point. "But it's not quite the look of love either. It's like you've suddenly . . . I don't know. It's probably just the result of your new change in attitude. You know, the 'I look sexy because I feel sexy' mentality. I'm a psych major. Trust me when I say that it really does have an effect. It's not all just self-help buzz words."

"Are you saying you're worried about me because I look hot?" Elena grinned, but her amusement was faux. Inside, her stomach was sinking and the pressure in her chest was getting heavier.

Jenna wasn't thrown. "Don't ridicule me. I have a valid point and you know what I'm talking about. There's something going on here. And if I was a less wise woman I would ask if you're on drugs, but I know there aren't any street or prescription narcotics that can cause what's happening to you."

_If you only knew, Aunt Jenna . . . You'd flip. But I can't tell you. For one, I've been sworn. For two . . . you'd never believe me. The last thing I need right now is to be locked in a mental institution. _"Want to know the truth?" she asked.

"No. I want a tall tale," Jenna quipped.

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you." Elena got to her feet and walked the length of the porch, stopping once she hit the rail on the other end. She listened to her aunt's soft footsteps as she followed her. "Part of it is Stefan and Damon. I never expected to fall for either of them. And I never truly knew what that meant until I found myself torn between two warring brothers. Literally, these two take sibling rivalry to a whole new dimension."

"That's why you've been so moody?"

"Yes. And that's why I've been gone all the time. I've been staying with them a lot, trying to figure things out right in the middle of it."

"Oh, Elena," Jenna gasped, eyes widening suddenly. She touched her arm gently and leaned toward her, looking at her differently. "You're not carrying on some crazy threesome relationship, are you?"

Elena laughed, though her throat had gone dry, because as absurd as that sounded aloud and in her head, she'd been thinking an awful lot about both vampire brothers in that way. Maybe it was these growing hormones in her body, shifting her off kilter and clouding her head. But whatever the cause, the fact that it was happening to her was all that made a difference.

Dutifully shoving her inner turmoil aside, she turned toward her aunt with an even expression. "Of course not," she assured. "I haven't even kissed either of them in almost a month." _Which I'm proud of_, she thought, _as pathetic as that is_. It was no easy feat.

Jenna pulled back with a dubious look. "I'm supposed to believe that for three weeks you've been spending nearly every night and most days over at that boarding house alone with two smoking hot brothers, both of whom have a thing for you, and you've been doing nothing dirtier than playing scrabble?"

"I hate scrabble. You know that."

"This is no joking matter, Elena Gilbert."

"Oh God," she gasped, rearing back with a horrified expression. "You sounded just like Mom." They both cringed in unison before laughing it off. "I swear that I will be open and honest with you from now on about my life. And if anything should happen with either of them, I will be sure to let you know. There. Happy now?"

"Oh yeah," Jenna drawled, "downright giddy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonnie drummed her fingers along the rim of her steering wheel. Warm air was seeping out of the heater's vents of her Prius as she sat and waited. Funny thing was, though the heater had been going ever since she first began to shiver, the car had never been turned back on.

She flipped her spiraled hair over her shoulder, looked out the side window and watched as the last orange-pinkish rays of sunset disappeared beneath the tips of the treetops.

The passenger door swung open, startling her, and Jeremy hurriedly climbed in beside her. "_Woo_, it's freezing out there. How quick did the temperature drop?" He was rubbing his hands together vigorously and as he puffed out air, little clouds of his breath floated away.

"I don't know, five minutes or so. Sure took you long enough." Bonnie twisted in her seat to face him. "Did you get it?"

Jeremy frowned at the vents in front of him. "Are you doing that?"

She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Jeremy? Did you get it?"

He turned and smirked, then pulled out an aged leather book from inside his jacket. "One musty old diary of the long dead Astrid Forbes delivered as requested." He handed it to her and she pulled it into her lap greedily before starting the hushed engine and pulling out onto the empty street. "Who knew the historical society would be so easy to break into?"

"It wouldn't have been if I hadn't unlocked that window for you."

Jeremy's grin brightened. "Yeah, it's handy being friends with a witch."

Bonnie frowned and tightened her grip on the wheel. "We're not friends. This is for Elena."

Unfazed, Jeremy shrugged. "Well then, it's good to have a sister whose friend is a witch."

"Would you stop calling me that?"

"What? A witch? Why? That's what you are, isn't it? If you were a vampire, I'd call you a vampire. What's wrong with me calling you a witch?"

"I just don't like how you keep saying it," she snapped.

Jeremy slanted sideways. "How should I say it then? Which tone would you prefer?"

"Let's just not talk."

"Fine by me," he said, turning to fiddle with the radio.

Bonnie gritted her teeth and turned onto Maple Street.

It was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A red sparrow plunged down in flight, skimming the overhang rooftop of the Salvatore's front veranda. The sky was a deeply bruised purplish blue and getting inkier by the second as more and more stars made themselves known over the darkening canvas. There wasn't a cloud in sight and the fully rounded silver moon was tinged in neon blue as it rose.

Elena shut off the Escape. And, without the steady hum of the engine, the night was plunged into a stagnant silence, interrupted only by the night-owl creatures. She'd had to walk back to school to get her car, because stupidly, when she ran off in a huff during lunch, it completely slipped her mind.

Lately she couldn't stand the confines of a car. Her fear of riding in them seemed to have escalated into driving them as well. There was something freer about walking, out in the open, on her own feet at her own speed and control. But it wasn't safe anymore, and she was having a hard time remembering that.

She walked up the drive with her hands in her pockets. Her deep brunette tresses were straight and silky after the shower she'd had at home an hour ago. They swung in a lively dance around her shoulders, skimming her back as she moved while wavy wisps framed her face, dancing as chilly winds blew through them. The cropped jacket she was wearing was zipped up over a red peasant top. Her dark-washed hip-hugger jeans were buckled with a biker belt that she borrowed from Jenna's closet.

When she got up onto the porch, she found the door unlocked, as always.

She stepped inside and shut the door behind her, locking it. Until she made sure that one of them was here with her, the doors would stay locked. Elena moved through the dark hallway and into the parlor. It was empty, but the warm glow emanating from the fireplace lit the room comfortably. She felt an easy sense of belonging as she strolled through the dark house. It was completely quiet.

She headed up the stairs and onto the top floor to the master suite, found it as empty as she'd suspected, so she turned and went back downstairs to wait for them.

Stefan had promised he'd watch _The Perfect Getaway _with her tonight. A whole stack of rented Blu-Rays were sitting on top of the massive television in the den, and she hadn't even made a dent in them yet.

Damon mocked her relentlessly the other night after he caught her watching _The Accidental Husband_. Nonetheless, he sat down beside her and finished the rest of the movie. He may have spent the whole time teasing her about her taste in stereotypical chick flicks, but he watched it.

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt, and so did her footsteps, when she moved through the dark downstairs hallway. A prickly sensation skittered up her spine and her heart leapt up into her throat as her breath hitched. She _knew_.

She wasn't alone in the house.


	7. What Lies Beneath II

**Entry 7: What Lies Beneath**

**Part II**

Damon watched the old woman from the shadows outside her home. He waited patiently, confident she would step over the threshold soon and he wouldn't have to lurk outside her window much longer.

As he waited, he pondered why the hell he was here. It was pointless. And even if it weren't, he wasn't Elena's lapdog. He didn't do as she beckoned. And confronting Bonnie's grandmother was a risk he had no valid reason to take. She was a witch, after all, and not just any witch. She was Emily's descendant. And that made her dangerous.

A jogger sped past, completely oblivious to what the shadows hid. Damon's eyes turned to follow her. She was pretty enough, young, someone he recognized as an English teacher at the high school, an outsider, not born in Mystic Falls. Her golden hair was swept up in a ponytail and bounced from side to side as she ran. Her clothes form-fitted her so he got a nice view.

He was tempted to follow. She smelled delectable. Nice and warmed from her exertion. But the front door of the Bennett house swung open and the old witch turned to lockup before heading toward the black sedan parked in the driveway. The temptation fled and a disappointed but resigned sigh drew from his lips.

He could play with the pretty jogger some other time.

Coming up behind her as she unlocked the driver's door of her sedan, Damon held back, trying to push away the hesitancy he felt in her presence. "Bianca Bennett."

She turned slowly at the sound of her name, key in the door and hand hovering over the handle. Her dark eyes turned up to his face, unsurprised. "What do you want?"

Damon took a swift step closer, locking into her gaze. He was surprised he couldn't smell even a trace of vervain on her. He expected her to be smarter than that. "I want you to invite me in. You and I have a few things to discuss."

She blinked slowly as her eyes clouded over and her angular face slackened. She tried to resist, but it was feeble. "I was just on my way out . . . But won't you come in? We have a few things to talk about."

He stepped to the side and grinned. "Lead the way."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elena was frozen with fear.

She knew someone was here, hiding in the darkness of the room, but didn't want to draw them out. She couldn't run, because running would do exactly that. She couldn't go on in faux ignorance, because her fear was obvious, and no doubt intoxicating.

She took a cautious step back and started to turn just as a stranger appeared in her path. He was a good head taller than her, and when he came into the light, moving toward her in easy steps, he took her breath away.

His obsidian eyes were liquid molten and filled with a covetous craving. His sandy-blonde hair was short and spiked up messily, looking as if fingers spent a lot of time running through it. His body was broad and sleek hidden under a dark silk shirt and slacks. His overcoat brushed his thighs as he closed the distance between them. His motions were graceful and held a fluid thickness that had her mouth dry with anxiety.

He was easily one of the most beautiful men she'd ever seen, even more smoothly masculine than Stefan, just as darkly magnetic as Damon, less pretty-boy than Matt. But even if she'd passed him on the street, though she would turn to look, she would steer clear. There was darkness there that set a paralyzing fear loose inside of her. While Damon hid his under charm and sarcasm, this man was too influenced at the moment to hide anything.

His thin carnelian lips twitched. "Hello, little wolf."

"Who are you?" The back of her thighs hit an end table and it rattled, a lamp almost tumbled over. He'd backed her into the parlor.

"I know who I am. Question is: who are you? And what are you doing _here_? You do know who lives here, don't you?"

Elena swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Maybe I'm in the wrong house. I should go." She started to move around him—_praying, praying, praying_—but knowing he wasn't going to let her just walk out.

She made it to the entryway before he appeared before her and the motion was so sudden she couldn't hold back her gasp. Her body went instantly rigid and the corners of his mouth upturned.

He advanced and she staggered backward, gasping as his dark eyes filled with blood and the veins around them surfaced and ran red. Canines emerged, tickling the edges of his lips. He looked like a monster . . . because he was a monster. It was the same, but it looked so much more terrifying than Damon and Stefan.

He backed her up against the sofa table propped against the back of the loveseat and she bent over it trying to keep them apart. Her hands grabbed the top of the loveseat behind her as her heart hammered in her chest. Her lungs emptied and wouldn't take in the air she needed when he pressed his lower half into her as he followed her and brought a hand to the hollow of her throat to run a cold fingertip over her skin, causing shivers.

He leaned in, inhaled deeply, savoring it with his eyes closed. "You do smell quite _mouthwatering_."

"Yeah," she gasped, his hand curving around her throat. "But I taste awful. I do, really. So just—"

She panicked as he dipped down toward her, preparing to strike, and her fingers wrapped around the glass neck of the vase behind her, swung up with it, and smashed it over his head. His face snapped to the side as shattered glass rained down on them. Elena brought her knee up into his groin and broke away from him as his hand came up to the gory gash sliced across his brow. She ran, and made it as far as the entryway again before he was on her.

She screamed as he twirled her around and slammed her back against the wall. She crashed into an end table and bounced off then tumbled to the floor. He was on her with a growl, pinning her to the floor with his body as she struggled wildly, clawing at the hardwood floor and kicking out.

She curled a hand in the edge of the rug and screamed out as he bit into the curve of her shoulder. His hands moved over her body in a roughly intimate manner, focusing on her hips, moving over and around to the front of her jeans and dipping down. She could feel his hips pressing into the curve of her backside demandingly. As the hot blood pumped into him and slid slickly down his throat, he grew hard and needy with an almost unbearable urge.

A bright fiery pain exploded within her and with it came not fear but anger, aggression, determination. A white-hot rage blinded her and she reached out again, wrapped her hand around the nearest table leg, gave it a good jerk, and it fell down on top of them in sync with her body's sudden buck and the vicious thrust of her elbow.

He released her, reared back with her blood dripping over his lips, and pulled her to her feet. She struggled as he forced her back and pinned her to the wall in a flash, so quick she didn't even feel him move her halfway across the room. Her back smacked into the wood paneling of the wall so hard her bones rattled.

Elena grimaced, crying out, and he bent his head down and nuzzled in her hair where it tangled over her blood-soaked shoulder. Her hands bunched in the rough material of his jacket.

Her eyes fell closed, but she didn't need to see. She just needed to feel.

His sticky lips brushed over her warm skin, the throbbing pulse point in her neck, and she felt his fangs drag over her, his tongue dart out and clean a strip of crimson syrup off her skin. He wasn't done. By far, he wasn't done. All the things he wanted to do to her flashed through her brain and Elena quivered, then the backlash hit with a sudden _snap_.

He was knocked clear across the room and bashed into the stone fireplace. As he fell to the floor, his hand fell into the fire and he bellowed, his monstrous face livening, enraged.

This was her moment to run, to escape, but the energy she summoned had drained out of her with her otherworldly strength, and Elena sunk weakly to the floor in a limp heap. After a few seconds of internal struggle, she turned onto her stomach and managed to get up onto her knees.

She looked up, eyes fluttering tiredly, and watched the monster rise to his feet and stride to her in tightly measured steps. His burned hand was healing and the only remnants of the gash she'd given his cheek was the blood drying there.

He stopped when he reached her and brought his healing hand up to slowly wipe the blood from his face as he towered over her. When their eyes met, he ran the tip of his tongue over his bloody lip and Elena shuddered, pushed back, turned onto her hands and knees with pained sounds of exertion, and began dragging herself away from him, inch by inch.

What else was she going to do? Give up? _Hell, no._

She felt a sharp pang with each breath she sucked in, a shudder with every muscle that moved as she crawled toward the entryway. Stars danced in her eyes, white and black splotches as she tried to blink her vision clear. But that didn't matter. Hair hung around her, getting in her way, blocking her face, getting caught between her hands and the floor.

She was going to pass out. She was clinging stubbornly to the last shreds of consciousness as they tried to leave her. All she wanted to do was cry. It was an almost overwhelming urge. It was to the point that she felt ridiculous. Where had the rage gone? It had slipped away with her strength and balance.

Elena's palm slapped onto the cool wood of the tread at the entryway of the parlor. She was almost into the foyer, which would take her to the door. She could hear his soft footfalls, coming so slowly, so far and few between, that she almost buckled under the anticipation. He was taunting her, taking his time before he'd kill her. And there was nothing she could do to stop him.

It was a powerful thing, this feeling, this realization, and it rippled through her hopelessly.

She dragged one knee up onto the step and planted her hands atop, pulling forward. When she reached a hand out further, it collided with someone's pant leg, slipped down to rest on a familiar shoe.

She craned her neck, and with furrowed brow and parted lips, her eyes moved up to find Damon looking down at her with an unreadable expression.

Like a gust of wind, relief came, rocking through her, and Elena sagged. Her fingers curled lightly, holding onto his denim as she turned and collapsed onto her butt, using the woodwork of the entryway to support her.

Damon's eyes drew away from her and locked onto the man standing in the parlor, looking disheveled but not all that perturbed.

"Nicholas," Damon rumbled calmly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

They stared into each other, measuring, waiting, deciding, meanwhile Elena was swallowing back the intense urge to turn and run. She couldn't if she tried, but trying would bring attention back to her, which was the _last_ thing she wanted.

Nicholas ran his thumb over his mouth, cleaning off the remaining blood trickling there, and looked up at Damon with an intensity that had Elena shivering. "Damon Salvatore. You're a hard man to find."

"I try." The given aloofness was there, as always, but it was tainted by an underlying severity that would've brought fear into Elena's heart had she not already grown accustomed to it.

Nicholas's smile dropped. "I've spent the last seven months tracking you down. To think, you've been right here in your hometown all along."

"Actually," Damon took a breath, "I spent most of the year in Amsterdam. Just recently came back to Virginia." He tilted his head, rolled his eyes, made a face. "Family thing, you know how it is."

Nicholas's eyes rolled to Elena and she stiffened. Damon noticed out of his peripheral but refused to look at her, his attention subtly but entirely focused on the other vampire. "I must say my arrival couldn't have been timed better. I'd almost forgotten how exquisite female wolves taste." His dark eyes slid back to Damon and the message in them was clear. "Perhaps when I'm done with you, I'll take your little wolf with me so I can thoroughly remind myself."

Damon's lips twitched into a dark smile. "Tell me, Nicholas. How is the lovely Grace doing these days?"

Nicholas's eyes filled with blood again as a growl ripped from his throat and he flung himself at Damon, who blurred and reappeared at another end of the room. Elena's heart leapt at having lost her shield, but Nicholas gave her no mind, immediately going after Damon.

They collided with simultaneous snarls of viciousness that made her toes curl and smashed into an overhanging archway, splintering the wood. Nicholas sent Damon flying, up high, where he crashed into the upstairs banister, crumbling it. Nicholas leapt up to him, but when he landed, Damon was recovered and standing behind him with a counterattack prepared.

She lost sight of them, but the noises, the crashing and banging and the vicious growls, filled her ears and made her heart pound painfully. Suddenly, the relief was gone and she was feeling real fear again, intense fear, but not for herself.

_Where's Stefan?_ Elena thought desperately. Why she was worried about Damon, she had no idea. It had never occurred to her until this moment that _Damon_ could be in danger, threatened by anything or anyone. But she didn't have a good feeling about this. She had no idea who this Nicholas was, but he was strong, just as strong as or maybe stronger than Damon. And that scared her.

Suddenly, her eyes sprung open and her heart stopped for a second as the vampires fell through the air to collide with the coffee table and all the sharp objects on it. Four wooden table legs split off and skidded across the floor as the piece and all its furnishings shattered beneath their impact.

In a flash, each was up and apart, circling each other in a tense standoff.

"You shouldn't have come here," Damon growled in full on vampire-face—eyes burning crimson, fangs, protruding reddened veins.

Nicholas laughed, swiping the back of his hand over a healing slash across his right eye. "When I'm done with you, Salvatore, there won't even be enough _ash_ to bury!" he spat then cackled. "Not that there's anyone who would bother."

"I'd bother," she blurted out unthinkingly, making both vampires' heads snap toward her in shock. They had partly forgotten she was still in the room. Ignoring the urge to widen her eyes in surprise at herself or fidget awkwardly under Damon's amused stare, Elena narrowed her eyes at Nicholas. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

Nicholas and Damon laughed and turned back toward each other. "You're keeping pets now, Salvatore?"

Elena glared scornfully from her spot on the floor. Neither man noticed.

Damon shrugged. "She's just a passerby. I'd say take her if you want, but since you're intent on revenge, I guess I'll have to kill you. Having to watch my back takes entirely too much energy."

"You always were a lazy bastard."

"And you're still as bothersome as ever," Damon drawled, rolling his eyes.

Nicholas's smirk grew. He straightened out of his aggressive hunch and started casually backing toward the glass veranda door behind him. "I'm going to enjoy watching you suffer."

Damon countered by relaxing his posture. He kept his eyes fixated on the other vampire but didn't move to follow him.

Nicholas paused in the open egress as his gaze flicked from Elena to Damon with meaning. "By the time this is through, Salvatore, you'll be intimately familiar with exactly how I felt when you ruined my life."

"You're immortal, Nicholas. Give it time. You'll get used to the misery."

"After I'm done with you," the other vampire murmured darkly. Then he disappeared in a shadowy blur.

A moment of still silence swept over them and Elena was still ill at ease as she watched Damon's tense body turn back to her. But when he turned, he specifically did not look at her. Instead, his eyes went to the crackling fire and his closed fist came up to collide viciously with the shaped stone above it. Elena flinched.

"Damn it," he hissed, all the bravado he'd fed to Nicholas gone now.

"Damon." She tried to push to her feet, failed miserably, and ended up on her ass again.

He turned toward her and his hard look didn't soften. "How much blood did he take?"

"My head is spinning."

Damon shut his eyes and tilted his head, breathing in and listening to her body's natural hum. Satisfied, he crossed to her and crouched down, drawing a hand quickly down the side of her face. He brushed tangled tresses from her eyes.

Agitated by his gentleness after what just happened, Elena turned her face into him, curled her fingers over his wrist and bit down on his hand. "See how you like it," she snapped angrily.

Damon jolted, jerked away, and then backhanded her across the cheek.

She gasped, and was so tipsy that she fell to the floor with the force of it. Her hand came up to clutch her cheek as she looked up at him. "Bastard," she spat under her breath, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Damon searched her face for a long moment before he sighed, softening with it, and pivoted onto his knees, bending down toward her. She drew back with disdain, but he caught her face in his hands and kept her close, his touch specifically soft.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "You just took me by surprise."

"You don't have to kick me while I'm down," she grumbled into his hand, her face crumbling as she gave into the urge to cry.

Stemming back the impulse to retreat, Damon obligingly hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her into him. "I'm just still jazzed up from that fight. I shouldn't have hit you."

What she _really_ wanted to do was cling to him and cry her eyes out, have him cradle her on his lap and rock her, soothe her until she wasn't shaking anymore. But her pride wouldn't have that, mostly because she was sure he wouldn't cooperate. So she determinedly swallowed back the rising sobs, flung her hands up over her face and rubbed, sniffling and screwing her eyes shut as she willed the tears to stop streaming.

The blood sticking to her was starting to dry and she felt dirty and used, like a tired old crack whore. Suffice to say, it was not a pretty feeling.

He was soft and warm against her, gentle as he tried to comfort her. Elena turned her face into the scratchy material of his shirt and sucked in a shuddery breath. "Why do these things keep happening to me?"

"The company you keep," he retorted lightly, drawing a hand up her spine, "that and also your shitty luck. You've got a thing for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Irritated, she pushed at his chest and pulled back to glare at him with red-rimmed eyes. "It's because of you that that bloodsucking rapist almost killed me," she spat, shoving a sharp finger into his chest. Damon's features darkened, his brows pulled together, and his head tilted as he searched her eyes quizzically.

"Rapist?" he echoed mildly.

"Close enough," she snapped, bristling defensively. "If I hadn't kicked his ass he would've. He was trying."

Damon's eyes sparkled. "And kick his ass you did. I'm fairly impressed, all things considered."

She sunk against him suddenly as a wave of misery rippled through her. "I wasn't strong enough. If you hadn't gotten home when you did . . ."

"You will be strong, Elena. Once you adjust to what you're becoming. You'll be strong enough to protect yourself."

She frowned, her back against his chest and his arm held around her as they sat crookedly on the floor. It was tempting, the idea of being as strong as Stefan and Damon, of being their equals. But ultimately, she couldn't stomach the price.

She shook her head. "It's not worth it. I don't want to be this . . . this thing."

"Werewolf, you can say it."

Elena sat up, but it took too much effort, her body was too weak. She managed to turn around to face him. "I won't let it happen. I'm not a werewolf. I'm not _going_ to be a werewolf. I'm going to find some way to reverse it. I'm going to be human. I'm going to be normal."

He rolled his eyes and drew a fingertip down the side of her face. "You were never normal. There's always been something powerful inside of you. It's in your blood, always has been, and it's come time to stop denying it."

"You don't know anything about me," she snapped. "Just because you won't help me doesn't mean I won't find my way out of this. Bonnie—"

"Your little witch friend is a half-pint," he cut in, exasperated. "If you think she can whip up a nice ritual to make you human, you're even more clueless than I thought."

Elena hardened. "I'm not clueless."

He leaned in close to her, just short of touching, and his irises melted with intensity. "You have absolutely no understanding of the world I live in . . . the world _you_ now live in."

She raised her chin. "Then I'll learn."

Damon pulled away with a throaty groan, and scrubbed a hand over his face. "You're insufferable."

Elena's face scrunched. He didn't notice she was no longer paying attention to him till he heard her say "I'm going to throw up." One of her hands lifted to lay over the curve of her neck, her jacket torn and stained with her own blood. She swayed, even half lying on the floor as she was, and almost collapsed.

As he reached out for her, a door closed, shaking in its frame from the violent impact. "_Get away from her_!" Stefan snarled. He had Damon pinned against the nearest wall before Elena could blink.

She lowered herself down until she was flat on her back and watched the vaulted ceiling spin in uneven circles above her.

Damon wrapped his hands around his brother's wrists but didn't force him off. "Simmer down," he drawled. "I'm not going to hurt her."

"She's covered in blood and half out of her mind. What the hell did you do? I trusted you with her and this is how you protect her?" Stefan tightened his fists in Damon's jacket and pulled him forward only to slam him back into the wall again, making it quiver beneath them.

Damon gritted his teeth. "If you would spend a second listening, I just might explain."

"Don't tell me—_she asked you to_."

"Boys," she interrupted blearily from her spot on the floor. "I can't deal with you fighting right now."

Damon raised his brow as Stefan glared at him, fighting his urges before he finally let his brother go and turned to Elena, kneeled down beside her and lifted her up into his arms. She was as pliable as a doll in his hands. He brought her to the sofa and lowered her down gently.

"Elena, what happened?"

"It wasn't Damon," she mumbled, turning her face into the leather beneath her and breathing in slow and deep strokes, concentrating with her eyes screwed shut. She was progressively worsening and she had no idea what to do to make it better. "Some vamp named Nicholas was waiting when I got here."

Stefan looked alarmed. He turned to meet his brother's gaze over his shoulder. "What did he want?" he asked him as she curled onto her side.

Damon shrugged. "Same old song and dance," he quipped in a bored tone, waltzing over to the liquor cart to pour himself some brandy. "He wants to avenge his mate's _honor_ or _chastity_ or _whatever_. Every time I try to explain what really happened, it only seems to piss him off even more. Who knows what stories that wench fed him? She probably claimed I raped her or something. When we both know _she_ seduced _me_."

Stefan looked skeptical.

"She did." He downed the glass of alcohol and discarded it before he lifted Elena's feet and plopped down on the other end of the sofa, letting her legs fall into his lap.

Stefan turned his gaze back down to her as he stroked a hand over her sticky hair. "Once more, you've brought pain to her."

They both watched as her discomfort etched over her features in waves and jolts. Her eyes never reopened and her heart's beat was so slow they knew she was drifting somewhere imperceptibly between awareness and the dark.

After a long while, Damon sighed. "I'll take care of it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonnie sunk into the dining chair beside Jeremy and leaned her elbows on the tabletop.

"This is useless," she huffed.

Jeremy rubbed the heel of his palms in his eyes and yawned. "What did you expect from a nineteenth century girl's diary? We've just got to stick it out through the droning. You're the one that said this would help."

"Well, I'm starting to think these visions of mine are a crock. I thought because I saw it that I was supposed to find something in it. But who knows? This night has been nothing but a huge waste. All Astrid can talk about is how _perfect_ Jonathon is and how _beautiful_ their children will be. How many times has she even mentioned vampires or werewolves?"

"She wrote about that raid at the annual cookout," he defended halfheartedly.

"And that helps us how?"

"Just keep reading," he muttered sleepily. His eyes fell closed and his head drooped. "There's bound to be something."

"What makes you think that?"

"I have confidence in you."

"You mean my 'powers.'"

"Same thing," he yawned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jenna stirred from sleep at the soft hum of the night aves.

She rolled onto her side and slipped quietly from bed. On the floor was a large gray T-shirt. She bent down, scooped it up, and pulled it over her as she shivered. In the open doorway, she glanced back to find Rick still sleeping soundly, then turned and felt her way down the dark hallway and into the kitchen. His apartment was decent-sized enough, but the layout was foreign to her and she had to ease her hands along the walls to keep from stubbing her toes or bumping into anything.

Glass of water in hand, Jenna headed back down the hallway. But restlessness itched at her and she ultimately decided to put off returning to bed just now. Instead, she moved into the small living room that conjoined with the kitchen and padded softly around on her toes, exploring. She was mostly looking for photos. There were about five different places perfect for frames, but instead were left empty.

She frowned and glanced around the room. He was knew in town, but there were no boxes in sight, here or in the bedroom, so there was nothing left to unpack.

Jenna sighed and sunk onto the sofa, cradling the glass to her chest. She could guess why this place looked so empty, so void of life. She knew he couldn't have been as solid as he seemed, not after losing his wife in such a horrible way. She wondered if maybe this was a bad idea, getting involved with him right now. Maybe he wasn't ready for this. Maybe she wasn't ready for this either.

She sighed again, forlornly shaking her head at herself, and then stilled as she caught sight of something across the room.

Meanwhile, Alaric woke sensing the absence of her warmth. He listened for a second, assuming she'd gone, before he synced up with her heartbeat in the living room. He moved down the hall to collect her, but hesitated in the opening when he saw what she was doing.

"Jenna," he called quietly, moving up behind her as she dropped the pile of newspaper clippings she was looking through. "What are you doing?"

She stiffened under his touch as his hand glided over the small of her back. "What is all of this?" She turned to him warily, backing herself up against the wall. "Why do you have these?"

'_Attacks continue in Hunter's Point. Body found mutilated on Highway 9. Unsolved murders leave trail through Virginia. Mauled student discovered in Richmond. Missing women pile up. Death moves to Mystic Falls. Local teacher killed in mysterious attack.'_

Alaric sighed, slipped close till their bodies brushed, and took the clippings from her to set them down on the shelf.

"This is why I moved to Mystic Falls," he told her in a soft voice. "The person committing these murders lives here. It took me months to trace it to this town. Each month he gets farther and farther down the coast in a lousy attempt to not draw too much attention to one concentrated area."

He paused to stroke a soothing hand down the side of her face, his eyes catching hers and drawing her in, keeping her calm and sedated.

Then he went on. "But he always comes back to Mystic Falls. It was only recently though that he started getting sloppy, or so I thought. But once I got here I realized that the killings in Mystic Falls weren't all his doing. But that makes no difference now. He's here and I'll find him."

Jenna looked down at the macabre headlines, feeling a funny sense of dread. It was worse than she thought. He wasn't just unready for this thing between them. He was on some sort of quest, a dangerous vendetta. This couldn't be healthy. And it wasn't something she wanted to be involved in. But reading over these headlines, she could at least understand why.

"All of these murders, they were all committed by the person that killed your wife?"

"Yes."

"If you've made the connection, the police must have too. Why didn't you bring it to them?"

"Jenna." He took her chin in his hand and turned her face back to him. "This isn't something they can deal with. This is for me to finish." He stared deep into her eyes, wrapping himself around her entire essence until he was the only thing in her world. "And you're okay with that."

Jenna's expression clouded. She frowned for a moment, struggling to make her brain work properly. What had she been saying? There was something she'd been in the middle of thinking, something important, but she couldn't remember what it was. If she'd forgotten so easily, it must not have been as important as she thought.

With an almost vacuous smile, she blinked and nodded, then pressed herself to him and encircled his waist with her arms. "I'm okay with that."

Alaric sighed, running his hand lightly over her hair and down her back. He kissed the top of her head and turned them. "Come back to bed."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the darkness, the wind rose and knocked an oak's outstretched branch into Elena's bedroom window and a resounding _clank_ reverberated through the room, startling her from sleep. She sprung up in bed with a gasp, heart thundering, until the sound came again and reassured her.

She heaved out a shaky sigh and ran a hand through her hair and over her face. There was so much fear in her life nowadays. So much, it made her head spin. It made her sick to her stomach. Before senior year began, she had no idea how exhausting it was being afraid all of the time. She couldn't live in fear. She just couldn't. But she was.

There was a distilled chill in the air, even though the windows were sealed shut and the drapes drawn tight. Even under the comforter, goosebumps ran along her skin and the occasional shiver made her teeth chatter.

She swung her legs over as she scooted to the edge of the bed and planted her feet on the hardwood floor. Through the ankle socks on her feet, she could feel the icy casing covering the maple wood. When she switched on her beside lamp, her breath made a pretty cloud of smoke. _My God_, she thought. If it was so cold she could see her own breath, then why wasn't she freezing instead of just chilly? Better question: _why the hell is it so cold in here?_

Elena came to her feet cautiously, expecting to be achy, but as she straightened and felt her own weight, she realized just how strangely weightless she felt. No aches, no pains or discomforts, but a sensation of ethereal foreignness. She brought her fingers up to the tip of her nose. It was numb. Why wasn't she feeling the severity of the cold? _What is going on here?_

Without the blankets to cover her, she found herself down to her underwear and a flimsy camisole. Her body was clean but the memory of the residue that had stained her skin still ghosted over her.

She opened the third drawer of her oak bureau and carefully took out a green cardigan. She pulled it on and let the soft material glide over her skin, but she derived no comfort from it. She closed it around her with the three large buttons sown into the fuzzy fabric along her torso. The sleeves dropped down over her hands and the hem brushed her lower thighs, almost to her knees.

She started for her bedroom door when she spotted a discarded pile of clothing crumpled up on the chair in the corner. On top was her new cropped jacket, the one she'd been wearing earlier. She picked it up and held it out between two fingers, scanning despondently over the huge eyesore—a tear in the shoulder and blood stains all over the beige material. A stark reminder of what was done to her not even that many hours ago.

"Damn it," she muttered, understandably upset. This was, after all, a brand new jacket—one she had been so fond of. And now it was completely ruined.

On her way out, she dropped the jacket in the wastebasket by the door and padded quietly out into the dark hallway. She hesitated at Jeremy's bedroom, peeked in to see him passed out, sprawled under thick blankets with one sock-clad foot hanging over the end of the bed. He went on snoring as she shut the door and walked away.

It was a habit she'd picked up after their parents died, checking in on him every time she got up to go to the bathroom or get a drink of water. Just to make sure he was there, still breathing, sleeping soundly. Not gone. Sometimes she dreamed that his bed would be empty and he was just . . . gone. That recurring dream, as simple as it was, scared her much more than any homicidal vampires.

Elena stopped on the landing and flicked on the light fixture above the staircase as she peered suspiciously at the second-story thermostat. _"Jesus!"_ It came out a fervent whisper, mindful of her sleeping housemates. After turning the thermostat back up Elena noticed the door to the master bedroom left open, bed still made, Aunt Jenna noticeably absent. A moment of puzzlement flickered through her before she recalled the note she'd found when she'd gotten home. She was staying over at Alaric's. It was just Elena and Jeremy tonight.

In the downstairs hallway, she was stopped by her own reflection passing through the oval mirror on the wall. She turned, positioning herself in front of it, and ran her fingers down the smooth cherry wood of its framing. The light of the moon drifted through the curtain-less kitchen windows and, as a result, streamed strips of silvery light into the hallway she was hovering in. From that silhouetted light, she stared at herself, a stark separation between the girl in the mirror and the body enveloping her.

She felt wrong, out of place within the confines of her own skin.

Blindly, she undid the large flat buttons of her cardigan and let it slip down her right shoulder. Watching her reflection with a concentrated absorption, she ran her numb fingertips along the line of her neck, over her shoulder, taking in the subtle marks that still marred her.

How, she wondered with amazement, could virtually the same experience differ so extremely? Vicki ravaged her, like a pit-bull deprived of nourishment, a mindless animal. The pain was so intense, so gruesome and visceral. And Nicholas, his bite was cleaner, sharper, less worrying and more penetration, but still incredibly painful. Even with the adrenaline that had pumped through her veins, there was nothing but pain.

But then with Damon, when he fed on her, it was a different sensation, so wholly different, not even in the same sphere of relativity. The sharp pinprick of broken skin was overwhelmed by the strange state he pulled her body into. It was foreign and breathtaking—an energized glow that spread through her and burned so white-hot she could no longer decipher pain from pleasure. Overall, it wasn't a bad experience. It was, she imagined, like riding on a high, a trip that teetered on the line between scary and euphoric.

Thinking about it, she had to conclude that they had some sort of ability to affect the way they fed. Maybe it was like Damon said and was just finesse and lack thereof. But, maybe it had something to do with what they were feeling when they attacked, how and what and why, all jumbled to shape what it was like. She assumed it was compulsion, when and if they felt like making their victims believe it was pleasurable instead of horrifying. But that couldn't be it, because she'd been wearing her vervain locket when Damon bit her. And all the other times as well. So what was the difference? She couldn't figure it out.

Jagged images flashed through her memory, stealing her breath and making her heart jump. The fear started to edge back in. She screwed her eyes shut and leaned her hands on the wall on either side of the mirror, arching her back one way and her hips the other until her spine was curved and her body taut. Deep breaths moved in and out in a slow, strained rhythm.

_Out of place in my own skin_ . . . the words echoed through her mind.

One of her hands slipped down the wall and came to her stomach, slid the warm fabric aside until she was skin to skin. There was something growing inside her, a pressure, a dull steam building toward electricity. She rubbed her hand across her stomach in a line from side to side, slow and smooth. Her hands were ice cold, but the touch invoked a slow burn. Her hand, fingers spread, palm flat, moved up her torso, over the soft ridges of her ribcage, up the valley of her breasts, and curved over her collarbone, around her neck, down and around again.

Her senses were reacting differently, strangely, and if her mind hadn't been so foggy, she'd have been baffled, bursting with questions and issues and worries and what was happening inside of her, around her, to her, would have effectively sent her into a major freak-out.

Elena's eyes fluttered open and flicked down to the reflection of her mouth. Bright red lips looked eerie under the silvery shadows. They parted as air escaped her, a swirling cloud of icy breath that caked onto the glass. Her face was pale, ghostly white, or maybe that was just the lighting. But her eyes were molten, vibrant and burning brighter and brighter until the warm hazel of her irises was an almost neon golden.

She gasped, drew away from the mirror and bumped into the opposite wall, knocking into a portrait hung there. After shutting her eyes several times and scrubbing her hands over her face, Elena glanced back at the glass and found it still foreign but not as terrifying as it had been.

_Maybe I imagined it._

She drew the cardigan hurriedly back around her. Haphazard and disheveled, she padded into the kitchen, forcing her back to the wretched mirror. She stopped at the fridge and carefully, with uneasy hands, poured herself a glass of water and brought it to her lips. She couldn't figure out whether she felt faint, jittery, or overheated, or all of the above, really.

She leaned her pelvis against the edge of the island for support as she sipped at her water, swaying on her feet slightly. When she couldn't drink anymore, she set the glass down and started to turn. But then a warm hand clasped over her mouth, stifling the scream it startled from her. Her heartbeat froze and her body tensed brittle enough to shatter like glass.

Then the hand softened and an arm snaked around her waist as a hard body pressed itself against her from behind. The hand over her mouth slipped to idle along the line of her jaw as warm lips touched the side of her neck.

Elena relaxed in his arms, strangely enough finding his intrusion and lack of respect for her personal space uncharacteristically welcoming. In fact, she was glad for the contact. It made her body feel less starved. This wasn't right. She knew that. Something weird was going on with her, but that didn't change the fact that she was feeling it.

"Damon," she breathed out, her voice shaky but edging toward calm. She flattened her hands to the imitation marble of the island and melted against him, shutting her eyes to savor the relief that spread through her. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long."

Damon dragged his fingers over her hip as he retracted his arm and let his other hand trail insensible patterns down the exposed skin of her neck. She smelled of ardor and honeysuckle, so overwhelming he couldn't catch a whiff of the vervain she wore around her neck. She was practically dripping with desire. Not necessarily just lust, though that was a strong part of it. Her body was humming to him again, a melodic rhythm that clouded over everything but _her_ in the vicinity of a hundred miles. It called to him like a siren would a sailor and he felt his eyes fill and his fangs emerge of their own accord.

He pulled away until he reached the opposite counter, pointlessly forcing the tiniest bit of distance between them. As she turned around to face him, her lower lip caught in her teeth and her eyes hooded, the old witch's words rang out in his mind. Her face, so ethereal, so beautiful, _Katherine's_ face, suddenly charged with new energy, the primal power of lycan.

He blinked, even through the clarity of his own growing thirst, they melded into one. Katherine. Elena. Elena. Katherine. The woman in the red dress standing inside the dark mausoleum, the image that has haunted him since it first came to him. It was neither Elena nor Katherine. Because he had yet to truly separate the two.

The witch had only served to confuse him further.

_Once she'd answered his question, she was released from the thrall and clarity returned to her sharp eyes. "Keep yourself away from Elena Gilbert. You and your brother both have no business being here, especially not with her."_

_Damon's lips twitched in a twisted blend of amusement and aggravated indignation. Who the hell was she to talk to him about Elena, to tell him where he didn't belong, what business was his and what wasn't? Smothering his reaction, Damon simply smirked and began backing toward the door. _

"_You've got other things to worry about, Witch."_

_He turned his back on her and was two steps from the door when she spoke again . . . and shattered whatever illusions remained of his beloved. _

"_Your mistress had a child."_

_Damon was to her with a hand at her throat before she could blink. She didn't look particularly surprised, and she didn't resist. "Be very careful where you go next, Witch."_

"_Before she was sired, your mistress gave birth to a bastard child that she had hidden away to protect her reputation." He tightened his hand around her neck, cutting off her airway. "I've seen it . . . in my dreams. I've followed the child's path. I've seen where it leads."_

_Damon grew cold as he listened to the witch. He didn't want to hear it. The words didn't sit well with him, made him feel a bit sick, which was an impressive feat for a vampire. But he couldn't deny that he believed her, as much as he wished he thought she was lying. But she wasn't. He'd know if she were. Though every fiber of his being wanted to twist his wrist and snap the witch's neck, kill the messenger, silence the bitch . . . his hand dropped from her throat and he turned away, unable to look at her, or unable to stand her all-knowing eyes on him._

"_Elena," he said, to himself, to her, to no one._

"_The connection you hold with your maker's descendant is unnatural. It isn't true. Pursuing her will only bring misery and death to this town."_

"_What the fuck do I care about this town?" He whirled on her, eyes bloodshot and voice gruff with dangerous anger. "Let it burn."_

_Bianca's face slackened. She regarded him with a coldness that left no room for fear. She wouldn't quake. She truly wasn't afraid of him. The things she was afraid of were much, much worse. _

"_Don't say you weren't warned."_

Damon watched as Elena drew a hand up to the hollow of her throat, brow furrowing as she trailed her fingertips down the skin and shivered. The heat she was emanating was intoxicating, slick tendrils wrapping around him and pulling him into her. Bianca Bennett's words echoed through his head like an incessant curse. Elena. Katherine. Katherine. Elena. Same blood, same DNA, same exterior, completely different souls.

And yet, he was drawn to her just as he was drawn to Katherine, just as strong, just as intense, just as consuming, and her hold on him was steadily tightening. He could, for the most part, blame the lycan blood transforming her. For the most part. Or for at least _some_ part.

His jaw slowly opened, teeth grazing, as the veins around his eyes ran with the burgeoning thirst. He pushed away from the counter and glided to her.

Elena pressed herself into the counter to get away from him. "Please," she breathed, almost a whimper as her voice broke. The heavy hammering of her heart had her breath escaping in flustered pants.

He came closer and every nerve ending in her body seemed to come alive, dull, and intensify all at once. It was a deep craving that took over her, the need to be touched, to feel, to experience. It was a sensation that had been blossoming inside her for weeks now, finally boiling over into a recognizable, nameable, undeniable urge.

"Please," she said again, a little stronger, with a light shake of her head. His tainted lips curled up softly and his head cocked to the side, blood-filled eyes burning into her with an intense desire that made her shiver in anticipation, fear and want. "Don't."

"Say it like you mean it," he whispered fiercely, a split-second before he dipped down and captured her lips in a searing kiss. His hands moved down her face, along the curve of her shoulders, to settle softly around her throat. He forced his knee between her thighs and tilted her head back.

Elena's mouth fell open and her eyes fluttered closed, strangled moans escaping her as he bent his head and his lips pulled back to reveal elongated canines. All seconds before he lunged down and bit into her.

She jolted against him, slumping backward in his arms, before her motions were reduced to soft trembles. He wrapped a solid arm around her waist to keep her up as he drank, spun them and backed her up against the kitchen table, lowering her down over it.

Elena arched softly beneath him, moving her head back and licking her lips. Her eyes grew hooded, her breath ragged, and her body tingled. Her hands smoothed up his arms, the cool leather of his jacket soothing to her raw skin, before digging her fingertips into his shoulders to hold on. Overgrown tips of his raven hair tickled her cheek. The cool electricity of his skin against her feverish own ignited more senses.

An owl that was perched outside the kitchen window cooed softly to the trees as a long howl echoed from faraway. If either were aware of it, that awareness was so far below their radar that it wouldn't register in any form of consciousness.

Damon held her close, pressing her further into the tabletop as a low groan reverberated through him. Her blood was intoxicating. Blood and chocolate tied with bourbon overheated to the point that it burned his tongue. He reveled in it, letting the dreamy sustenance flow down his throat with closed eyes and a reverent touch. The taste of her before, as desirable as it was, was nothing compared to her now. After just a few careful sips he was already lightheaded.

Because of that, a fear crept into him, a sickness, and the fog over his mind cleared with alarm. He worried over his own control, his state of mind. Instead of chancing it, he stopped himself before he could take nearly as much as he wanted. He drew out of her and swallowed, savoring the lingering taste on his tongue as he lifted his head and looked down at her. She didn't look particularly clearheaded, but she wasn't weak. How could she be, he'd taken hardly anything from her. Damon ignored the pang of indignation, and suppressed that primal desire to keep taking until there was nothing more to consume.

It was addictive stuff, that lycan blood, especially a woman's . . . especially Elena's. He couldn't trust himself with her right now any more than he would worry about her in Stefan's hands.

Elena's eyes cleared as they burned into his. She focused as the crimson receded and the deep emerald of his irises returned. Her hand came up, palm and fingertips delicate against the cool surface of his cheek. His body temperature was heating right under her touch. She was surprised to find him tense against her, held tightly coiled in an uncharacteristic manner.

Her lips—paler than the ruby they'd been but still starkly red in the silvery light of the moon that paled her caramel-toned skin to luminescent porcelain—curved into a warm smile. Her cheeks burned, flustering at the intensity pouring from her for him.

He was taken by surprise by the intense softness, the open vulnerability, the connection. She smoothed her hand down his face until her thumb rubbed across his lower lip, caked with her blood. She pulled it away, rounded until her fingers clenched in the soft hair at the nape of his neck as she lifted up to press her lips to his in a soft kiss.

He remained still as a statue against her for the longest moment before his hands grabbed her face and forced her closer. Her arms draped around his neck, digging and grasping at his shoulders, his neck, his back. He forced his tongue past the seal of her lips and tangled it with hers, tasting her once more. The tang of her own blood coated her pallet, but she didn't mind, because she didn't even think about it.

She inhaled a violent intake of air as he lifted her off the table and hooked her in his arms, still kissing the hell out of her hurried mouth. Elena wrapped her legs around his waist and fisted her hands in his shoulders as she hoisted herself high for the upper hand. Damon pressed a hand flat to the small of her back, trapping her, and brought them upstairs.

One moment, she was in the kitchen, and the next, she was slipping to the floor and being pinned back against the inside of her bedroom door in frenzy. She nipped his lip and planted her hands on his chest, pushing him back. The next second, she snapped her face to the side and tore their mouths apart, gasping for breath. When she turned back to him, she was calmer.

Moving slowly in forced patience, she smoothed her hands up his chest, spread to push the leather jacket off his shoulders. It slipped down his arms and pooled at their feet. Next she grabbed the hem of his sweater and yanked it over his head, tossed it across the room, while he deftly removed the buttons of her cardigan and slid his hands beyond it to her bare waist, spreading it wide until it hung off her shoulders.

Damon took one swift step and had their bodies flush again, her back to the door and her head turned and thrown back as his mouth skimmed dangerously along the hollow of her throat. Her fingers dug into the bunching muscles of his back as his lips hovered over the puncture wounds a little too near her pulse point. His tongue darted out and he trailed a long lick over the seeping wound, cleaning the remnants of blood with controlled ease. A soft moan escaped her and as she tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her to his ministrations, swaying locks of her hair fell into his way.

He straightened and a strangled sound rose up her throat. He took her by the wrist and pulled her into the center of the room, his eyes perfectly attentive in the pitch darkness enveloping them. Then he circled her, and nerves pricked in her as she wavered, fear and doubt spiking. He paused, standing behind her, and inhaled the scent of her fear with eyes closed in pleasure. His hands came up and settled heavily on her slight shoulders.

Elena stood perfectly still, a test of her endurance, as she waited. Finally, he drew the lapels of the cardigan and dragged it down her shoulders at a painfully slow pace. It too pooled around their feet, and once it was no longer a hindrance, Damon's hands dropped to her hips and glided over her stomach as his arms encircled her from behind and pulled her into him.

They swayed silently in the middle of the dark room that way for a long few moments, as if they were both unsteady on their own feet. Her eyes were drawn closed by an undeniable and unseen force and her chest rose and fell softly as his hands spread flat against the curves of her pelvis.

The tips of his thumbs played idly with the band of her panties. He wasn't surprised they were red. It was a shade that complimented her skin tone, almost exotically. His chin rested on her shoulder, his cheek to the curve of her neck. He luxuriated in the feel of her silky tresses sliding over their flesh.

It wasn't until he'd turned her around to face him and was ghosting his palms up the sides of her face as he slanted inward to capture her mouth again that she came back to herself with a jolt. Wide-eyed, she ducked backward suddenly, palms to his chest, keeping him back, and shook her head, profusely, partly to tell him and partly to shake away the fog of desire.

"No," she said strongly, though her voice was hoarse and throaty. She stepped back, but he followed. "No. I can't. I'm not . . ." She jumped when her back collided with the bathroom door, hook hung above bumping into the crown of her head. She tried to move, but he cornered her before she'd even noticed she was trapped. As his heat loomed down on her and her heart stuttered quickly, Elena shied away from contact, but he didn't make it easy. "I'm not doing this, Damon. Just go."

He stopped, fists pressed into the door on either side of her head, and his face fell to the crook of her shoulder, caught between mandarin-scented hair and a throbbing pulse point. His body coiled tightly in on itself, almost brittle.

"Elena."

"Just go," she said again, resoluteness tinged with desperation. She held very still, afraid to move, he was so close. But when he didn't make a move to go and her resistance buckled—she just knew it would shatter completely soon and then she'd do something she was determined not to do—she shoved him away. Or she tried.

He didn't go very far, and the space he did step back into he took her with him, fisting a hand in a clump of hair at the base of her skull and jerking her head back till she cried out at the sharp pull of her neck. Her hands came up. He used the grip on her to thrust her body forward, bumping it into his own and taking away any option of her throwing a punch. He spun them and Elena grimaced as he slammed her back against the dresser, sending things tumbling.

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and dug her nails in warningly. They locked eyes. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. As they stood off, she witnessed something surprising. She watched as he protected her from himself.

He retracted his grip from her as if she'd burned him. He took two sharp steps backward. She sank against the dresser with a sigh of relief. His eyes never left hers. She wanted to say something, the impulse was strong and her mouth itched to move, to call out something. But she didn't, because her brain was frozen and no words came.

Instead, she stared at him staring at her.

Until she blinked and he was gone, jacket and shirt left strewn on the floor of her room, window open, and no sign of Damon Salvatore anywhere.

Elena fell back against her bedroom wall and let her body sink to the floor, where she sat for a long undetermined time with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. Her heart hammered on within the confines of her chest. Something foreign and conscious inside of her simmered in fury and dissatisfaction. As if an entirely separate being was coexisting within her. Fear threatened to swallow her whole.

Elena sat there in the dark for too long as tears leaked from her eyes and stained tracks down her cheeks that clung on even after her eyes had dried out.

That was the position she woke up in when she felt a pair of gentle hands on her. Her eyes fluttered open and through the darkness she made out the blurry figure crouching before her.

"Elena . . ." It was Stefan.

A weak sort of warmth melted her and she slinked ashamedly forward until she could sag into him. He immediately wrapped the discarded cardigan around her shivering body and lifted her into his arms. Then he carried her across the room and lowered her to the bed, then dragged the covers up over her chest. She turned on her side as he went to pull away, catching his hand blindly and pulling him down to her.

"Please," she whispered softly. "Stay with me."


	8. The Quiet Eve

**Entry 8: The Quiet Eve**

"Caroline!" Her mother's voice grated against her happiness. The sound was accompanied by a loud pounding on her bedroom door. "Come on. Up and at 'em, or you'll be late for school." The doorknob jiggled and a grunt of frustration arose from the other side of the door when her mother realized it was locked.

Matt sprung up from the bed and lunged for his discarded jeans that were lying on the floor in the corner of the room. His heart raced and panic seized him. She wasn't going away. All he could think about was that the sheriff carried a gun, and he was in her only child's bedroom, naked, with her seventeen-year-old daughter. Yep, he was so going to be shot if he didn't get out of here, like now.

"Caroline!" she snapped, losing patience.

The blonde in the bed groaned and rolled onto her side, squinting into the brightly lit room. Her eyes found Matt as he hopped on the balls of his feet, desperately tugging on his jeans and buckling them with clumsy fingers in his rush.

She shot a disgruntled glare at the door. "I'm awake, Mother!"

"Get a move on."

"Get a life," she grumbled. Then she climbed off the bed and crossed to snake her arms around Matt's waist. "Calm down, Romeo. There's no rush. The door is locked." She stretched up on her toes and pecked his chin. Her hands moved up to run through his disheveled honey-hued hair. "You're safe."

He kissed her back for only a second before weaseling from her grasp with a frazzled shake of his head. "I better get going." He turned, bent, snatched up his shirt, and tugged it over his head. "I'll really have to stop sleeping over here. My heart just can't take it."

Caroline's lips stretched into a dirty grin. "You weren't complaining last night."

Matt spared her a glance as he sat down on the edge of her bed to pull on his shoes. The corners of his mouth twitched. "Why don't we do my place for awhile?" His hands paused tying his laces as he looked up at her. "Come tonight."

"That's what she said," she quipped, bouncing down onto the bed beside him and running her fingers teasingly up his arm. Their eyes met and her smile deepened. She couldn't believe the way her heart palpitated like shortness of breath. It was so . . . cool. She liked feeling this way when she was around him. It was different, new. Slyly, she tilted her head and settled her hand over his shoulder. "I'll think about it."

"You do that." He shook his head and darted sideways to place a quick kiss on her pursed lips before he got up and crossed to the window. And then he was gone.

Caroline stared blankly at the clear window. She already felt the emptiness that crept up whenever he was gone. It was getting ridiculous. Good thing she wasn't one of those self-destructive girls that would screw things up just because they were so good right now. She couldn't believe it. Who would've thought, Matt Donovan would turn out to be such a hunk? He was always Elena's boyfriend—goody-goody, the nauseatingly perfect ones, the Golden Couple. He always seemed so boring to Caroline. But that was before. This is now.

Now he was Caroline's perfect boyfriend. No more pining over Elena. No more sad puppy-dog looks. Things lately seemed pretty much perfect. She was still reigning captain of the squad. Her grades were coming up. She was beautiful, popular, and now she was dating the quarterback. Her life couldn't get much better.

"Caroline! Move your butt! Come on!"

"Alright already!" she yelled back, letting out a strangled sound from the back of her throat as she tossed her robe off and stomped into her adjoined bathroom. She tied her hair back and washed her face, then grabbed her toothbrush and started scrubbing at her teeth, struggling desperately to keep the irritation that was her mother from destroying her dreamy mood. She was winning the battle, by just barely, when the bathroom door suddenly swung shut.

Caroline spun, the small of her back bumped into the edge of the sink, and she saw him. The toothbrush in her mouth hindered the scream that tore itself from her, even as her heart hammered in her chest. But before too much sound could come out of her, his hand was over her mouth, shoving aside the end of the brush.

The fear spiked like fireworks but his eyes zoomed in on hers and pulled her in. A soothing warmth of content washed over her. Her heartbeat slowed and her body tingled, back to that dreamy happiness she'd been feeling all morning.

When he lowered his hand from her, she grabbed the brush and tore it from her mouth hurriedly, then dropped it in the sink behind her and wiped her mouth. She ran her hands over her hair, self-conscious.

"Damon," she breathed out softly. "What are you doing here?"

He flashed a charming smile and moved to lean a hip against the sink. She countered by pressing her back into the door. She had to be careful to keep her distance. She was with Matt now. She couldn't let herself fall for his charm again. He folded his arms over his chest and his eyes melted her, consumed her. She felt drawn in and she was eerily okay with that.

"You're going to play a little game for me."

She smiled, vacuous and bright. There was something in the back of her mind, some nagging sense that she didn't want to play any games, but it was so vague, so quiet, that it was no match for the chipper excitement that wanted nothing more than to do whatever he asked of her. "Of course."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She stood in the valley of a vast clearing.

The edges were encroached with hardwood, circling pine and oak rising high into the sky and looming over her, casting shadows with skeleton-like tendrils. An owl perched on a tendril not far, high above her head. Its eyes glowed yellow in the darkness and seemed to be peering down at her intrusively. Around her legs were stones. Many stones, limestone angels watching over marble slates. They swarmed around her, all different shapes and sizes. They stretched out to the edges of the woods and over the hill farther than she could see.

The owl hooted rudely and she craned her neck to look at what it was looking at. The sky was stretched above them, inky and splotched with stars, a round moon that seemed to glow neon blue was full and took up most of the canvas.

The dewy grass tickled the underside of her feet as she stood barefoot on a clump of fresh soil. She wiggled her toes and looked down to see them, but was surprised to find herself naked. Where were her clothes? Hadn't she been wearing clothes? But she didn't know. She couldn't remember ever putting any clothes on in the first place. In fact, she couldn't remember anything. How did she get her? Where was _here_?

And why won't that damn owl stop looking at her?

A breeze blew past her and silky locks of her hair danced in the wind before they fell back to splatter around her shoulders and down her back. The tips of them caressed her lower back, eliciting goosebumps. She shivered. The night air was practically icy. This was why people didn't just go walking around outside at night with no clothes on.

"_Yahoo_!" someone bellowed from the distance.

She turned and frowned into the shadows of the trees nearest her. The sound had come from in there. She started to follow the voice when she spotted a flickering light out of the corner of her eye. She hesitated in mid-step. To her left, over the hill, near the largest crypt she saw three cloaked figures, one shrunken by at least a head, squashed between the other two like a sandwich. The middle figure was holding a pillar candle that dripped ivory wax onto the grass below them.

She squinted and the shadows cleared.

The middle figure was her! But it wasn't really her. It couldn't be. It just looked like her. The imposter didn't seem to notice her. _She_ only threw her head back and giggled, chocolate waves of hair dancing smoothly around her. _She_ twirled and set the candle down on the top of a headstone. With her hands free, _she_ propped herself up onto another stone and let her legs swing over the edge. Her hazel eyes sparkled as _she_ focused on her shrouded companions.

What was this? Some sort of joke? What was going on here?

She tried to move toward them—though the concept of being naked made her hesitant, it didn't totally dissuade her—but she couldn't! Her feet wouldn't move in their direction. It was so frustrating. Every move she made toward the strangers the ground would soften to unusable putty and she would sink. Finally, she just gave up and turned back to the disembodied voice in the woods.

Tinkling laughter bubbled up from her imposter and filled her ears, even as she left the Dead Place behind and dispersed in the shadows of the trees. She stopped at the edge though, brought her hand up to the scratchy bark of an oak. Directly above her head was where the owl still perched. It was no longer looking at her though. It was too busy staring at the _other one_ and her companions as they roughhoused and played in delight, completely oblivious to her.

As she glanced over her shoulder and looked back at the others, an incredible sense of loneliness swelled inside her. She tore her eyes from them and forced herself deeper into the darkness. But the farther she went the colder it got, like sinking deeper and deeper into the ocean. And the voice calling to her decreased until it was barely a whisper, egging her onward.

Soon she was running at full blast. Her lungs burned and the soles of her feet ached with every protruding root they scraped over and every rock they landed on. She weaved deftly between the obstacles in her path and soon her eyes adjusted to the shadows and everything cleared. She didn't need the moonlight to guide her anymore.

She came to an abrupt stop when she found a river blocking her path. She stood at the edge and let the mercury moonlight bathe over her iridescent skin. The voice was completely gone now. But it was okay, because she'd barely noticed the loss. She was on her own now, completely, totally, utterly. There was no going back now. She wouldn't know the way. But she wasn't lost. She'd never be lost again, just as long as she kept going forward.

Dirty and tired, she bent down by the river and dipped her hands into the icy water flowing past her. She splashed some over her body and was surprised to find she wasn't cold. She was the complete opposite. She was feverish. And though her muscles ached, she could imagine going for the rest of the night without resting. Her body was a new and incredible thing. It would take her to lengths she'd previously never imagined.

She splashed fresh water onto her face and let the droplets run down her skin, refreshing. Then suddenly a husky howl filled her ears and she snapped up toward the sound. It was coming from the north, under the moon, in the distance. As far as it was away from her, she heard every pitch, and with the eerily familiar sound came a spectrum of emotion. And then, she just knew.

He was calling for her. She had to follow.

_I have to find him._

Elena's eyes fluttered open already perfectly clear. The bright light shining through her bedroom windows was golden and warm, the soft breeze accompanying it was somewhere between cool and warm, and the birds sang softly from the oak outside her window—all telltale signs that it was going to be a perfectly beautiful day. It made the fact that she felt horrible about ten times worse.

Quietly, she sat up in bed and tucked her hair behind her ear, then turned to look down at the sleeping body beside her. Mixed emotions rippled through her. She couldn't believe Stefan had actually stayed the whole night with her, as she'd asked. She felt nauseous from the guilt, and technicalities weren't easing it a bit in the harsh light of day.

She eased herself back down onto her side, facing him. She watched his chest rise and fall softly and wondered why they breathed when there was no need for it. It was probably just reflexive. It still amazed her how much she didn't understand about what they were.

A soothing sense of comfort had just settled over her when his lids lifted and she found him staring at her, his expression unreadable. Her heart jumped, feeling claustrophobic within the walls of her chest.

"Thank you for staying with me." When her voice broke the heavy silence of early morning, it didn't seem soft enough.

"Of course," he replied, almost robotically. She had to suppress a flinch. She felt horrible, just horrible, and a whole lot of good it did.

With a deep breath, she pushed herself back up and looked down at him over her shoulder. She was sure her face said it all but he was still so unreachable, she couldn't tell. "You must be so mad."

Stefan rose and left the bed behind so swiftly she'd have missed it if she'd blinked. "I am." His voice was tight, like it took him effort to keep it neutral. She wished he'd give her something to go on, some sort of emotion so she'd know how to proceed. But she didn't deserve it. So she sure as hell couldn't ask for it. He stopped by the window and turned back to face her. His shoulders were drawn tensely and his hands tucked smoothly into the pockets of his pants.

She pivoted to the foot of the bed on her knees and bit the inside of her lip. "I really don't know what to say."

He sighed and looked away. "There's nothing to say, Elena." His eyes came back to her and weren't so cold. He softened, but the anger was still there, tucked away and hidden beneath the resigned sadness.

She wanted the anger. She wanted him to lash out at her and punish her, even though she really wasn't even certain what for. It would make her feel better if he'd yell. But she knew he wasn't going to, not just yet.

"I get it."

She let out a shaky breath and fell back onto her haunches with a miserable look. She shook her head and rubbed her hands over her face before they fell into her tilted lap. "I wish . . ."

"I know."

The rest passed between them wordlessly. Once the tension was gone and the energy between them was easier, he turned his back on her to look out the window, down below to the waking street that stretched out around them. Elena stepped carefully onto the floor and crossed to stand directly behind him. Her hands itched to reach out, but she was afraid to touch him. He sensed her dilemma and turned back around to face her.

"I'm sorry, Elena."

She frowned, turned her chin up. "For what?"

He searched her eyes for a long moment before the crease in his brow smoothed. "For dragging you into this," he said. "I can't be mad at you for something you have no control over. I knew it was a bad idea coming here, pursuing you, but I did it anyway, because I was selfish."

She laughed at that, the absurdity of it, a sudden and sharp sound that came from the back of her throat. Then she brought her fingertips to the hollow of her neck. Her throat was dry. It hurt. Why, she had no idea.

He leaned down until their foreheads touched. Her eyes fluttered closed as his hands streaked lightly down her face and brushed her hair back from her cheeks. "Damon warned me. I just wouldn't listen. History has a tendency of repeating itself."

Elena shook her head in denial and pulled away from him. "I can't be Katherine for you two. I won't. I can make different choices. Things won't turn out the same. I won't let them."

The struggle that played out over his features only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough. Finally, he drew his hands over her shoulders, delving into her hair as they settled over the back curving of her neck.

"I know it would be best all around if I just left. If I could take Damon with me, I would. But I can't do either of those." He drew his thumb down the curve of her jaw to rest in the corner of her mouth.

Elena's hands found themselves at his sides, bunching softly in the material of his plaid shirt. "Why?"

He lowered his face down to be closer, his soft viridian eyes burning into her. "The only thing that matters is that you're safe . . . and happy."

Peace warmed her, a deeply innate sort of sensation that he rose in her. But beyond that peace, there was pain that rippled through her, so intensely, and it was empathetic. It was her pain, yet it wasn't really, because it was pain she was feeling for him, and for Damon, and for herself. It wasn't about guilt, she realized. It was fear . . . debilitating fear. She couldn't choose. She loved them both so much, too much, for so very different reasons. But that wouldn't go away and she couldn't ignore it. She couldn't walk away from one and not the other.

As selfish as it was of Katherine to try to have them both, it would've been worse if she had chosen between them, one and not the other. It would be worse if Elena tried. She just couldn't. But she couldn't be with them either. One and not the other. Both. There was nothing she could do, no foreseeable way out of this mess. No way, at least, that she could live with.

And as it threatened to swallow her whole, the peace grew and spread out, warming, calming her with a sense of resigned contentment. She knew what she had to do, when this was all over. There was only one thing she _could_ do. And she, and all of them, would just have to come to accept that this is the only way.

But for now . . . she'd just get through the day.

"I do love you," she whispered, feeling the truth of it settle into her soul with the truth of his promise. All he wanted for her to be safe and happy. And that just made all of this so much harder . . . because that's all she wanted . . . for him, and for Damon, as unlikely as that may be. More than anything, she wanted them to feel happy, and loved, and she couldn't do that, not for both of them, not for just one. There would always be too much jealousy and resentment.

It was impossible.

"I know." He smoothed a hand down her hair with a sigh and his gaze went over her head. "How are you feeling?"

"Mm," she croaked, closing her eyes and stepping into him until their bodies were flush and her arms were hooked loosely around his waist. She hid her face in his chest and let the contact soothe her restlessness. Lately, she needed to be touched a lot, needed to feel a warm body against her. Not that she was ever against it, but it'd become a necessity. "Weird," she told him. "I don't know how to deal with myself." She stepped out of his arms and pulled her cardigan tighter around herself. "This _allure_ thing . . . is it much stronger today?"

Stefan turned his body toward the window, suddenly averting his attention. "Uh, yes, but it's not as overwhelming right now." His head turned and his steady gaze locked onto her again. "It's only unbearable for vampires when you're aroused. But it wouldn't be safe for you to be around humans right now. You're . . ." He hesitated, suddenly unsure of how to go on.

"I'm what?" she prodded.

"You're unstable. We really can't predict how you'll behave and react throughout the day, especially the closer it gets to sunset. I'm not letting you out of my sight until this is over."

Elena stiffened. He was talking like it was already over. But it wasn't. She wasn't done fighting this. Not by a long shot.

"Fine by me," she murmured, turning and ducking into the bathroom for a shower before she provoked another speech about accepting the inevitable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Bonnie woke with a start._

_She sprung up, gasping, and her wide eyes darted around in panic. Instead of in bed, in her room, she found herself sprawled on the frozen ground, darkness enveloping her. She was surrounded by tombstones._

_She jumped to her feet and lurched forward, running toward the gate that would let her out onto Laurel Avenue. She must've been sleepwalking again. She was almost to the wrought-iron fencing when she heard it—a soft feminine laughter echoing through the cemetery. It stopped her in her tracks. But when she turned around, there was nothing but the loud sound of her hammering heart._

_Unable to stop herself, she took a step forward, and another, and another, until she turned the corner of a large crypt and found herself face to face with Emily. The dead witch gave her breathing descendant a vacant stare that unnerved Bonnie and had her heart thumping even harder. She held an extreme distaste for Emily, never having forgiven her for their last encounter which had led to Bonnie almost dying at the hands of an out of control Damon. _

"_What are you doing here?" she demanded with narrowing eyes, then folded her arms over her chest. "Leave me alone."_

_Emily didn't speak. She blinked, and her eyes moved away from Bonnie, and turned until they were standing side by side. Bonnie followed her with her eyes, wary of the ghost, but curiosity got the better of her and she had to follow Emily's gaze across the graveyard._

"_Elena!" she gasped. What in the world was Elena doing here? At first, Bonnie was relieved to see her friend. A sense of comfort washed over her. But then the panic came. If Elena was here, then something must be wrong. "What is she doing?" she asked aloud, frowning as she moved close enough to see her best friend clearly under the moonlight._

_In a dark red dress that curved around her fluidly and looked far too expensive to be worn in a cemetery in the middle of the night, Elena was perched on a limestone bench by an ivory statue of the guardian angel. Her feet were bare and one leg was crossed over the other. Her bright hazel eyes were alight with the laughter bubbling from her lips. Oblivious, she seemed to look right past Bonnie as if she wasn't even there. That made Bonnie's frown deepen._

_Then she noticed it. Elena wasn't alone. Beside her on one edge of the bench sat Stefan. He was watching her carefully, as if at any moment something would happen and he needed to be alert. On the other side of her was Damon, wearing the same sleek black suit as Stefan. His emerald eyes shined in the dark as he sat with one leg on either side of the bench so he could face Elena. His fingers drummed along the stone before his lap, dancing near her thigh. He, unlike his brother, was not focused on Elena._

_Damon was focusing on something in the shadows at the edge of the graveyard. His eyes seemed intent on whatever it was as he laughed with Elena. He only turned his eyes to her once a gray wolf stepped out of the shadows and sat down by a tombstone to watch them._

_Bonnie jumped, backed herself up against a crypt, stuck between the vampires and the wolf. She wanted to go to Elena, but she was too afraid._

_Damon trailed a hand up her body, brushing locks of her curled hair over her shoulder and letting his fingers skim down her exposed arm. His touch drew her attention and when she turned to him, he dipped down and captured her lips, cutting her laughter off short._

_Bonnie sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes widened. Her stomach roiled. "Elena!" she called, admonishingly. "Elena, stop! What are you doing?" Why wasn't she pulling away? Why didn't she slap him? Spit in his face? Why was she kissing him? And right in front of Stefan! Bonnie couldn't believe the kind of audacity she'd need to kiss Damon like that, so lighthearted and sensual, while she laced her fingers with Stefan! What has gotten into her? "Elena!" she cried._

_When nothing happened, Bonnie felt her body sink down to the wet ground and she hiccupped as her knees drew up to her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the wolf still sitting there, still staring. No one noticed her. No matter how loud she screamed._

"_What is she doing? This can't be her. He must've done something to her mind. I have to stop this. I have to protect her." She brought her hands up to her face, feeling miserable. "I can't let this happen."_

"_No," Emily cut in sharply, suddenly appearing beside her._

_Bonnie craned her neck to look up at her ancestor as she towered over her with a look of fierceness that made Bonnie inwardly quake. "Go away."_

"_You must not meddle in this."_

_Bonnie pushed to her feet and glared, spine stiffened. "What are you talking about?"_

_Emily turned to look back at the trio and Bonnie followed. "You cannot stop this."_

"_Why the hell not?" she snapped. "He's a psychopath! She can't—"_

"_As long as Damon Salvatore's growing attachment to her is preserved, he will not pursue Katherine's resurrection. As his feelings for her deepen, Katherine's unholy hold over him weakens." Emily turned back to her descendant with a deadly serious look. "Katherine must _not_ be released. Elena Gilbert will assure that. So long as nothing disturbs this," she said._

_Bonnie shook her head, spirals of hair bouncing back and forth, and stepped back. "You're insane." She turned, but Elena and the Salvatores were gone, so was the wolf, and when she glanced back, Emily was missing too. She was all alone again._

_Then suddenly a low growl reverberated through the trees, seconds before a massive creature leapt from the shadows and landed on all four paws not far from where she was standing. It weaved between two headstones and set its monstrously silver sights on her, clacking its jowls._

_Bonnie wanted to scream, but the terror gripped her so tightly she couldn't even draw a shriek. All she could do was stumble backward and break out into the fastest run of her life. The thing howled and set out after her. Bonnie barely made it to the gate, and when she reached it, she rammed into it, because it didn't budge. She was trapped._

_She spun and screamed as the thing lunged for her._

"_No_!" she yelled out desperately, flinging herself upward. Panting and panicky, Bonnie's heart didn't start beating regularly until she took in the bright light of the sun streaming down on her and the grass beneath her pajama-clad body. She _had_ sleepwalked. "Oh my God," she sighed, clasping a hand over her heart and screwing her eyes shut in relief at being released from the grips of her dream. "Never, never again . . ."

"Morning."

Bonnie jolted, spinning and gasping, clasping a hand over her mouth. She knew that voice, would know it anywhere, and it sent chills up her spine. Damon Salvatore. He stood on a porch, leaning casually against a dark pillar by the steps down. His arms were folded over his chest and his ankles were crossed as he smirked down at her.

Out of her peripheral—because she couldn't bring herself to take her terrified eyes off of him for even a split-second—she realized that she was lying in the front yard of the Salvatore's boarding house. If she could've woken up anywhere in the world, why, oh why, did she have to wake up here? She'd have rather woken up in the middle of the road or in the falls.

"Did you know," he began in a mildly upbeat tone, "you talk quite vividly in your sleep."

Her brow tugged down. "What did you hear?"

Damon shrugged, cast his gaze aside, and sauntered down the steps and across the yard at a lazy pace. "Something about a big bad wolf; nothing interesting, unfortunately."

Bonnie was on her feet and backing up two steps every one he took toward her. She was in the driveway by the time she gave up on keeping distance and let him advance on her. "Is Elena in there?"

He raised his brow at her and glanced back at the house. "You're the budding wise one. You tell me." He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers and took another step toward her until they were standing toe to toe and she was arched back as he towered over her.

Bonnie gritted her teeth in agitation, but her eyes nonetheless darted between him and the intimidating brick house. The answer came to her easily enough, but when she replied, her voice was doubtful. "No. She's at home."

He grew serious as he searched her face intently for a moment. Then he slanted into her and lowered his voice to a smoky drawl. "You're coming along quickly."

Bonnie backpedalled as quickly as she could. "Stay away from me." She spun and started to hurry down the driveway as he stood and watched her go, smirking.

"That's not a bright idea," he called lazily. "The streets aren't safe for pretty girls right now."

She hesitated, glanced over her shoulder. "What are you talking about?"

He lifted a dark brow at her. "Haven't you heard?" His eyes flashed at her as he made a conspiratorial face. "A poor pedestrian was found mauled to death on the side of Highway 9 this morning, pretty young girl, hitchhiking just outside of town." He gave a pitying shake of his head and she seethed inside at the mockery.

"I'm fully aware of what an evil bastard you are," she snapped. "You don't have to brag about it."

"Oh," he laughed, strolling toward her. "I went to a lot of trouble to get this town's _vampire hunters_ off our backs. I wouldn't go throw that away by leaving my leftovers for the sheriff to find, now would I?"

"Like I'd believe that," she scoffed. But as he grew nearer, she had to suppress the trembling in her hands.

"Believe whatever you want," he shrugged. Then his eyes slid past her to the Camaro parked in the drive. With a put-upon sigh, he moved past her toward it. "C'mon. I'll drop you off."

"I wouldn't want to trouble you," she drawled, eyes like slits as she watched him hop over the door and into the convertible.

He looked back at her with just as much smarm. "I was just on my way out anyway."

"I'd rather walk."

"Suit yourself." His smooth voice rose over the purr of the engine as it revved to life.

Bonnie started down the drive. It took everything in her to turn her back on him. She just prayed over and over, like a mantra in her head, that he wouldn't be bothered to hurt her. But a few feet later she eased to a stop, tormented. She spun just as the Camaro was riding toward her. Then she stepped out in front of it and he waited to brake until the bumper practically nudged her.

"You're going to Elena's, aren't you?" she accused.

"What of it?"

_Don't, Bonnie, don't!_ "I'm coming with you then." She was going to go straight to Elena's anyway, and she just couldn't stand the thought of letting him get there before her. She didn't care what Emily said. She didn't care about this Katherine chick. Elena was her friend. That was all that mattered.

He shrugged as she climbed into the passenger side with more courage than she thought she had. "Suit yourself."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alaric heard the soft rhythm of Jenna's breaths change, just a subtle shift, but it was plenty enough to alert him that she was waking. He was outside, coffee mug in his hand, seated on the porch swing. He had to be in for his first class in half an hour, but he didn't want to wake her; she looked so beautiful, so content, when she was asleep.

She had to be the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, aside from his Maggie. But even that, the memories he held of Maggie were already starting to age, like frayed edges of a treasured photograph. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was his mind's way of helping him to let her go. He didn't want to forget her, but he also knew that if he held on too tightly, he'd never be able to go on without her. Even still, he wouldn't be able to actually move on until he'd avenged her death.

It was ironic really. All of his friends had warned him that marrying a human was a bad idea. If she didn't live long enough to grow old and die while he stayed untouched by time, then being so closely woven into the life of a vampire would only cause her pain. They advised him to keep his distance. _"If you truly love her, you won't live this way with her."_ He did love her, more than anything. She was, is, and always would be his soul mate. But he wasn't a selfless enough man to leave her, even for her own good. She didn't want to be a vampire, and he couldn't or wouldn't go against her wishes to turn her. So what else could he do?

Even still, as it turned out, she suffered a horrible death that had absolutely nothing to do with him or vampires, but the evil of a mindlessly bloodthirsty animal. How's that for irony . . .

"There you are." Jenna's sleep-affected voice reached his ears with a husky lilt of mellow happiness as she stepped past the threshold and out onto the porch. In one of his dress shirts and nothing else, she padded across the porch and sunk down beside him on the swing with a soft smile.

Alaric brought his free hand up to trace a line of her soft hair and tucked it behind her ear. "Good morning."

"Coffee?" she asked, nudging his arm and reaching imploringly for his mug.

He smiled and handed it off to her. "You should get dressed. You'll be late for class soon. And on that note, so will I." He rose to his feet and stretched. "I could drive you if you want."

"Sounds great," she murmured through her sip, and then groaned disappointedly. "But I can't. I have to get back to the house and make sure the kids get off to school."

His brow tugged down as he pulled her to her feet and they went inside. "Jeremy hasn't skipped a day since I've been here."

"Yeah, I know, he's been great. It's Elena I'm worried about."

Alaric stopped and watched her pad back into the bedroom.

"Yeah," he murmured, "me too."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elena stood before her mirror with her hands clutching an envy green scarf in front of her. Though the colors of her clothes were vivid and bold, they seemed to her to be somber tones. They matched her mood. And then they also didn't, because she was feeling a bit split-personality today.

There weren't many voices in her head, just the two that were always there, one much quieter and faraway than the other more prominent, but the attitude of each voice differed drastically from not only each other but also themselves this morning. So many emotions and sensations, attitudes and moods, all ping-ponged through her on a nonstop looping cycle, so chaotic that she felt like she should have a splitting headache, but she didn't. She felt fine, drastically out of sorts, but not altogether unwell.

She felt like the sunlight was more golden than usual, warmer and bolder. Everything seemed more colorful and vibrant than it did yesterday, even her body. It hummed like a finely tuned universe: the lingering mint on her tongue from the toothpaste she'd used, the soft tread of rousing life along the block, the quiet rumble of the heater and the hiss of air that came from the vents, the smooth feel of the scarf in her hands, the cool oak wood of the bureau beneath her fingertips.

Even the way her clothes hugged her felt different. The curved wire of her bra dug into the underside of her breasts, atypically uncomfortable, while the lace of the trim was itchy against the swell of them. It was too constricting. She was tempted to remove it. But she didn't, because the fabric of her indigo blouse was too thin and snug for it to be appropriate.

The dark denim of her jeans seemed binding around her thighs even though it wasn't that tight. The metal of the button scraped against the skin just above the rim of her underwear and chafed her. The socks on her feet were too suffocating. The bracelets around her wrists were too clingy. And the ring on her finger was too abrasive.

She stood there and stared for the longest time. Her hair was wavy, almost in half-formed curls of mocha-chocolate. She normally wore it straight, but that meant she'd have to straighten it, and that seemed momentarily pointless. She didn't have the patience for it. She didn't even have the patience for makeup, though the underside of her eyes looked dark-shaded by liner and the color of her normally coral lips seemed starkly ruby against her light caramel complexion.

_It's my eyes_, she thought. _They're brighter, bolder, almost glowing. It makes my face look really radiant._

Her gaze went down to her throat and she brought three fingertips up to trace down the soft skin. It seemed warmer than usual. She traced down the curve of her neck until her fingertips came in contact with the wound there in the crevice. It was small but noticeable, and it seemed to tingle at the contact. The matching wound on the other side of her neck, the one on the backside of her shoulder, was covered by her shirt. Running her fingers over that one, Elena shuddered as images of the attack flashed through her mind in a blurry rush. She couldn't think about that, not now, when everything seemed heightened and intensified.

She wrapped the scarf around her throat, positioning it loosely so that it hung over Damon's mark, and let it drape down her back and chest in two thin wisps of fabric; the ends brushed her thighs. Then she pulled her hair up and tossed it over one shoulder, tucked it behind her ear.

She stepped back from the mirror and took one last look at herself before turning away from it with a deep breath. She stopped in the hall and opened her brother's door. "Jer," she called, "time to get up."

He batted a hand blindly and dragged the comforter up over his face. "Go away," he gurgled.

"School," she reminded before shutting the door.

Downstairs, she found Stefan standing by the living room window seat, looking out with an unreadable expression on his face and his hands tucked into his pockets. He was calm, almost static. She stopped under the archway that conjoined the foyer and the living room.

"What is it?"

Stefan turned to look at her. His expression didn't change. "I'm wondering if Damon will be able to handle the Nicholas situation without stirring anything up."

"'The Nicholas situation,'" she sighed, moving softly into the room. "Damon sure knows how to make friends."

"We've known Nicholas since the eighties." He followed her into the kitchen and took a place out of the way while she rummaged in the fridge. "But I wasn't around when he met Grace, or for what transpired between them after that. I can't say I'm surprised."

"So they actually were friends?" she asked, her brow quirking with incredulity. She twirled with a case of eggs in her hand and set them down on the island, pulled a frying pan from one of the underneath cupboards and set it on the front burner of the stove, then lit the burner.

"Yes, for many years. But it wasn't like my relationship with Lexi. We were . . . exceptions. She was really the only other exception I'd ever met—a vampire that appreciated life, someone with a soul, a compassionate heart. Now I guess it's just me."

"I'm sure there are others out there," she murmured, then grabbed the butter from the fridge and spooned a bit into the heating skillet. As she was putting it back, she grabbed a tomato from the crisper and a canister of already-made croissants. She set them down on the island by the eggs and pulled out a baking sheet for the croissants, then switched on the oven. "I imagine vampires don't do the friend thing like humans do."

Stefan slid onto a barstool that was tucked under the island on the opposite side of her. "It's just different, because of the varying lifestyles. In that sense, they got along fairly well most of the time. Then I guess when Nicholas took a human mate, Damon just couldn't resist."

Elena was placing the bread on the sheet when she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. "Is it vampires in general or just Damon that doesn't know loyalty?"

Stefan searched her eyes for a long moment, hesitating to find the right words, before he answered. "From my experience, we can be fiercely loyal, to an extent a human couldn't contemplate. It just depends."

She sighed and bent to shove the sheet into the oven, and then she turned to him and pressed her waist into the edge of the island. Her hands busied with plucking an egg and cracking it into a bowl. "That's a roundabout way of saying it is Damon that can't be loyal, not because he's a vampire, but because he's Damon."

"He was loyal to Katherine . . . above all else." His eyes never left hers. There was a tone to his voice, a look in his eyes, a way about his body language, that moved her speechless.

She turned her face down, struggling to compose herself, and spent time whisking the bowl of eggs until they were smooth enough to pour into the heated skillet. The croissants normally baked to a golden, flaky crisp in approximately eight minutes, the eggs usually took less than six. And she was using the already-cooked microwavable bacon strips Jenna always bought, because they were leaner and less greasy, so she wouldn't have to worry about that until everything else was cooked.

After she scrounged up the last few leaves of lettuce and set them aside with the tomato, Elena returned to her position opposite Stefan and finally met his gaze, then picked up right where they left off.

"And you?"

"I was more loyal to her than I was to my brother . . . and I don't think I'll ever figure out whether it was all her compulsion or not." He glanced away before coming back to her attentive eyes and leaned forward over the island toward her. The tilt of his head only made his eyes penetrate deeper. "Either way, it's something I regret, something I'll always wonder about. Would things have turned out differently between us if—add here the countless paths that could have been taken but weren't."

"I know he loves you," she said strongly. "It's just . . . twisted up with everything else."

"I'm not sure that makes a difference."

"It might." She turned toward the skillet and mixed the eggs, flipping and tumbling them, then checked on the croissants. She brought the tomato with a cutting board and a knife over to her spot at the island, then began cutting up slices.

"Jeremy!" she shouted up at the ceiling. He was probably still in bed, knowing him.

In a lower voice, she asked Stefan, "How's the allure?" The corners of her lips were curved and her eyes sparkled with humor that sparked something in him.

"Manageable," he grinned.

"Let's hope it stays that way."

"That's not the only thing you have to worry about."

She set the tomato slices with the lettuce on a plate and dished out the eggs onto it too, then grabbed an oven mitt and pulled out the baking sheet, tossed it on the stove before switching off both the burner and the oven. As she spun back to him on her heel, she flung the mitt away from her with a light hand.

"Do I want to know? Or should it be a surprise?"

Before he could respond, Damon strolled into the room. "Well, you're in an enviable mood this morning." He came up beside his brother and spared him an absent glance. "All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed"—his sunny expression fell theatrically—"and I mean that in the figurative sense, of course. It'll be quite a few hours before any tails, bushy or otherwise, crop up."

Elena's eyes narrowed. "That is not even funny," she snapped in a low voice.

Damon laughed, once, a short and sharp sound that reverberated warmly through the room. "It is a little funny." He turned to his brother and nudged him lightly. "Isn't it?"

"I don't think it's funny," Bonnie said from the doorway, surprising Elena. "It's not funny when you taunt someone over something that is traumatic and seriously no laughing matter."

Damon rolled his eyes as she rounded the counter to be near Elena, who was looking at her funnily. "If you can't laugh over the non-laughing moments you may as well just shoot yourself and get it over with."

"You can't expect sensitivity from him," Stefan said.

"Maybe the problem is you people are all _overly_ sensitive."

"Nope," Elena retorted with a pop, pursing her lips and knitting her brow. "The problem is most definitely that you're a jackass."

Damon's lips twitched as he looked at her. "I don't see why that'd be a problem."

"You wouldn't," Bonnie muttered, bringing Elena's attention back to her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a frown.

Bonnie picked at a fresh croissant and got a light slap on the hand from Elena. "What?" she shrugged. "I'm not allowed to just pop in anymore?"

"But you're in your cupcake pajamas, and you don't even have slippers on, or a jacket." She looked her up and down then glanced at the doorway. "And you came with Damon?" Then it clicked and her face fell. "Sleepwalking again then?"

"Ding-ding," Bonnie drawled with sour enthusiasm. Then it dropped just as quickly and left her with melancholy. "I'm gonna go upstairs and borrow something. Save me a plate."

Elena nodded absently and began picking croissants off the sheet and plopping them onto a new plate. "On your way, make sure Jeremy's getting ready or he'll be late for school."

"And so will I," Bonnie added, and then spun to walk backwards on her way out. "I suppose by your pronoun use that you won't be coming with us today?"

"Hey," she nodded her head toward the boys, "talk to them. I feel great."

Bonnie spared them a glance before she disappeared. Her footfalls could be heard up the stairs and down the hall.

Elena dished herself a plate once she'd pulled the bacon from the microwave. Then she carried it to the breakfast nook table and folded a leg underneath her as she took a seat in the corner. "I guess there's no point in offering," she quipped, piling on tomato and lettuce atop her bacon strips squashed between two slices of her croissant.

The room fell into silence that hung thick over the trio. Elena busied herself with her food, hungrily and rushed, it was her main focus. She was suddenly ravenous with the mingling scents wafting up her nostrils and invigorating her pallet.

Damon was the first to move, when he crossed the room and lowered himself into the chair on the other side of the table. And when he did, Stefan slipped off the barstool and took the other chair.

Jeremy stumbled into the room, wearing the same clothes he'd worn yesterday, and went straight for the food scattered along the island countertop. He turned to join his sister and spotted the two vampires. "Oh, great, it's Louis and Lestat." He redirected and took up the barstool Stefan had vacated. "Isn't it a bit early for the vampires to be visiting?"

Elena bit off a chunk of her croissant and said between chomps, "Drop it, Jer."

"Elena, do you still have that embossed halter?" Bonnie peeked in from the hallway.

Elena stabbed a bit of egg onto her fork. "In the hamper."

"Damn."

"Just wear the yellow one."

"It doesn't fit."

Elena sighed, propped her elbow on the table and looked up. "What about the black and white 'Rebel' one—y'know, with the cropped sleeves and the red block letters?"

"Is it in the hamper?" she countered.

Elena shook her head and Bonnie spun and scurried back to the staircase. "Third to bottom dresser drawer," she called after her. She turned back to the table to see Damon, Stefan, and Jeremy all staring at her. "What?" she shrugged, reclaiming her fork and shoveling another bite of eggs into her mouth.

"Where's Jenna?" Jeremy asked.

Elena paused in her chewing. "Sleepover."

He shook his head and turned back to his plate. "I can't believe I finally get a cool teacher and she has to go and date him."

"I'm not sure if they're really dating, per se."

"Even worse," he grumbled.

"I've got to call into the office, excuse myself from school today," she said, getting up from the table and taking her empty plate to the sink. She dropped it into the dishwasher and leaned against the island as she snatched another croissant and began picking at it. "Tell Aunt Jenna when you see her that I'm spending the weekend over at Bonnie's."

Jeremy paused with his glass of juice at his lips and cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Don't give me that look. I'm staying at the boarding house, just in case. I don't want to be around anyone I could hurt. Meanwhile, have you gotten anything useful from those writings?"

Jeremy's juice went the wrong way and he pounded a fist on his chest as he choked on it. Finally, he settled. "No 'how to cure werewolf-disease,' unfortunately, but . . ."

"_But_ what, Jer?" she prodded. "What's with the face?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_EIGHT HOURS EARLIER_

The screaming filled his ears, ricocheting like shards of glass.

The lung-searing scream died and the air was filled with hysterical sobs. "Please, please, no," strewn in between the choked cries. It was a girl, no more than sixteen, crawling backwards across the rocky ground. She was scrambling back, too distracted by her terror to realize how close she was coming to the edge of the cliff. If she kept at it, she'd stumble right over the ledge and find herself in the falls. She was so scared. Tears flooded her face. Her voice was hoarse, her movements jagged and pityingly pathetic.

He wanted to help her, he really did, but there was just no way. He didn't even know where he was. Sure, he was thinking, he was feeling, he was experiencing, but when it came to actually being aware of his body, he was lost. It was like being trapped in a bad acid trip, lost in the clouds with no tether to any physical reality.

It wasn't him that was doing this, scaring this girl, hurting her. It wasn't. It was the other thing, the dark thing inside him, possessing him. He could sense _it_, its presence, its thoughts and feelings and senses. Sometimes they would spill over into him and they would be linked. But they weren't the same, not at all, and he didn't know how to take back control. He was trapped. And he could feel the visceral thirst, the dirty impulse, the needy urge that it had, that was driving it toward the girl, making it stalk her, drawing this out to swallow as much of her terror as it could steal from her.

"Help!" she screamed, and kept the word going until her voice strangled out and she collapsed in a shivering heap. Even her hysterics had dulled to miserable weeping, like she'd finally succumbed to her inevitable fate. There was no way out. She'd already tried to outrun it. She'd tried to fight it off. And it just played with her like a sadistic cat that torments the mouse before it eats it.

The girl backed herself up to the edge of the cliff, shaking her head. "No," she whimpered, almost inaudibly. "Please . . . somebody . . . help me . . . please . . . please no." She tore her eyes from the thing as its massive paws padded closer, jowl jutted out, saliva dripped over gleaming, jagged teeth, eyes glowing a feral golden as they burned into her. There was an unintelligible cruelness behind those eyes, the malicious way they gleamed at her misery. She looked over her shoulder, down the rocky drop-off to where the crevice of the falls conjoined. Her hands dug painfully into the sharpness of the rock beneath her.

Meredith Sullivan—sixteen-year-old sophomore at Mystic Falls High, outcast, loner, inexorable romantic, who just hours ago had been walking on water, astounded and giddy that the captain of the football team had actually noticed her, had went parking with her, had _kissed_ her!—looked down at her only way out and back at her sure and horrific death and back down. She didn't want to die. But she didn't have the courage to face what this _thing_ would do to her. She couldn't endure it. She just couldn't.

She wanted to be a writer, become famous as a wordsmith that created fantastic and memorable worlds. Books had kept her alive all throughout school, they were the only thing. She wanted to do great things, create awesome stories and reach millions. She wanted to see her father again. She wanted to know he still cared and he regretted walking out on her when she was little. She wanted to see her mom again, if only to take back the horrible things she said during their big fight this afternoon, the one that led to her storming out of the house and walking through the park, where she met _him_.

God, if only she could go back and tell herself not to be so stupid. She should've known that a handsome, popular guy like that would never really want someone like her. She was nobody. And now . . . she'd never get to be somebody.

Without anymore thought, Meredith screwed her eyes shut and braced herself. As the thing lunged, she flung herself over the edge, screaming all the way down.

The creature stopped and craned its neck, watching with a cocked head as the body was swept up with the current and taken away. It gnashed its teeth together and reared back, howling up at the sky in fury. When it landed and the howl echoed distantly through the falls, it turned and loped through the woods, sniffing out the nearest warm scent.

Its snout led it to Highway 9.


	9. Bad Moon Rising

**Entry 9: Bad Moon Rising**

**Part I**

Elena turned her head to the side, feeling the coarseness of the Oriental rug beneath her cheek. She was sprawled on the parlor floor of the boarding house with her arms spread wide at her sides. Waves of dark hair fanned out above her head.

This was the way Damon found her when he returned from his quick trip to the school to visit Caroline. It was tedious, but necessary. He imagined two or three more visits would suffice. He just needed to make Nicholas believe Caroline was something important to him and Elena was just his brother's companion. It shouldn't take too long, seeing as Caroline's thoughts were currently radiating proof of exactly that and his scent clung to her. He'd have Nicholas out of the way, soon enough. Then he could focus his attention solely on the creature laying on his parlor floor and wedging her even further away from his brother.

"Hello there, little miss moody," he said in a singsong tone as he strolled toward her, then stopped by her legs and bent his head as he looked down at her. When her only response was to roll her eyes onto him, he sighed. "I swear. You're becoming worse than Stefan with all this self-inflicted melancholy."

"What makes you so chipper?" she drawled—her voice husky and monotonous as she lay on her back looking up at him.

"I don't have any reason not to be." He spread his arms wide. "It's a beautiful day. If you're gonna just lay there, you might as well do it out in the grass, under the bright sun, warm breeze, all that jazz. Unlike the rest of us in this household, you don't have any reason to not appreciate it."

"I don't wanna lie in the sun."

"You're not a vampire. You don't have to mope in a dark dreary room."

"Damon," she sighed, impatient and irritated, "just let me be."

He rolled his shoulders and looked up. "Okay, your prerogative." When he glanced back down he found her hazel eyes taking on a richer hue of golden, sparkling, as they burned into him. He knew that look, knew it quite well. His lips twitched. He opened his mouth to comment, when a stray piece of her flitted through his mind with surprising suddenness. _She sees him standing over her, but suddenly he's not anymore, he's down on the floor, arched over her, pressing her body to the floor with his own, and his lips are at her neck. A split second later they're tearing at each other's clothes and she's flipping to straddle his waist. She pulls back just long enough to tug off her top and throw it away before she's on him. _The moment startled a throaty chuckle from him. By the time his eyes cleared, he was achingly hard and it was taking every ounce of his self-control to not lunge for her.

Their gazes locked. She grew uneasy, tensing as she sensed the swift change in the air. "What?" she asked. She was perfectly innocent and completely baffled.

"You're not wearing your locket," he told her. His voice seemed strained to his own ears, but to her, it sounded like he was about to attack.

She propped up on her elbows, aware of something she couldn't figure out, but a sense of trouble settled in her stomach. Hesitantly, she nodded. "The smell was bothering my nose." _Unlike that odd combination of axle grease and cinnamon that's warming my insides. Did he always smell so amazing? I don't remember it being like this. _He smiled and there was just a note of smugness to it that stiffened her spine. "You can hear my thoughts, can't you?" she realized, her expression darkening with a hint of dreaded acceptance.

He pursed his lips and nodded, searching her over fastidiously with narrowed eyes. Embarrassment tinted her cheeks. Funnily enough though, she wasn't worried about him compelling her, now that he could. She was vulnerable to him now, of her own doing, but, inexplicably, she didn't really think he would.

"I see that hyper sexuality is coming along nicely," he murmured, jabbing the knife of embarrassment even deeper and raising her agitation all at once.

"I can control myself. And it's none of your business." She was about to push up to her feet when he suddenly lowered himself to the floor beside her.

"Obviously, it is." He raised his eyebrows at her as his eyes flashed suggestively.

Elena's heart jumped. The warm tightening of her stomach was hard to ignore, so she didn't—she just didn't act on it. She turned her face toward his and stressed pronunciation, "Not gonna happen." Time ticked on as the two of them fell into silence, staring at one another. Soon enough, a smile crept up her lips—he drew it from her—and she tried to bite it back. Suddenly, she was all too aware of the dangerous waters they were treading. Clearing her throat, Elena ended it quickly. "Where've you been?"

Damon broke away from her gaze first and relief swept through her. "Tying up loose ends," he said curtly.

"Well, that's not cryptic at all."

His head fell in her direction again. "Where's Stefan?"

A pang of sadness rippled through her. She looked away, biting down on the inside of her lip to control her face. "Don't know." She shrugged. As bad as Elena had taken the news that she was Katherine's direct descendant, Stefan took it worse.

The story Jeremy had told them—_a human Katherine had an affair with Jonathon Gilbert's little brother and birthed an out-of-wedlock daughter; Astrid Forbes was engaged to Jonathon at the time and all parties agreed that it would be best if they took the child as their own; Katherine had jumped at the chance, and the little brother had been the first person she'd killed as a vampire_—had hit her hard, but it would've been easily cast aside into the back of her thoughts had Stefan been there to assure her. Instead, he reacted by pulling away, politely escaping her presence without explanation.

Damon was the only one not affected by it, which really shocked her. She'd expected him to react badly, to get mad, but he'd seemed eerily calm all day. It was suspicious, most definitely, but her mind was momentarily too crowded to worry about it.

She was brought back to herself by Damon's even voice. "He'll get over it."

She turned to him, eyes clearing, and lifted a brow.

"He just needs to brood for a bit," he promised, using a bored tone and a penetrating look.

Elena drew in a slow breath, surprised to realize she believed him. "You know him better than I do," she muttered wryly.

"Unfortunately," he chuckled.

A small laugh bubbled up her throat and escaped her lips. Their eyes met again and a warm lightness spread through her, seemingly emanating from him. His eyes darkened, filling with blood just the slightest bit as he was overtaken by her aura. She was glowing, and her mood reached out and wrapped around him like inevitable tentacles of power. His body coiled with the most intense desire to take her in his arms . . . to devour her, all of what she was.

It was the warm blood that pumped through her, the steady beat of her heart, the smooth mocha of her skin, the preternaturally vivid golden of her eyes, the soft mauve of her curled, parted lips, the dark, silky tresses of her hair and the way it spooled around her, the subtle contours of her body as she lay next to him. It was all too much, all too focused to ignore.

Noticing the tension in him, Elena's head lolled to the side. Her eyes fluttered beneath their lashes as she searched his features, wary. Her lips pressed into a line and a tendril of wavy locks fell over her shoulder to brush the dip of her chest before it touched the floor. When she noticed the way his eyes darted to her pulse point and then further to where her heart beat beneath her flesh, it stuttered nervously.

Then the distance between their bodies was gone—she had no idea how, it happened so fast—and he was kissing her, if that's even what it could be called. Seemed to Elena, the word "kissing" seemed like such an astronomically understated verb for what he was doing to her, what he was making her do _with_ him. She couldn't breathe, and she could feel herself becoming lightheaded because of it, yet she couldn't pull away and she couldn't suck in any air.

He rolled her underneath him and trailed his mouth down her jaw to her chest and shoulders, tearing fabric out of his way so he could feel the warmth of her skin on his lips. His fangs emerged, of their own accord, but he resisted the urge . . . for now. She threw her head back and gasped, eyes fluttering closed and mouth falling open. Her hands dug into his back, under his jacket, and she writhed beneath him in a mindlessly instinctive cyclone movement.

"_Damon_." When he rolled his hips against hers, pressing his erection into her, creating friction, she hooked a leg over him and used it to roll them over. They landed somewhere between the loveseat and the fireplace as she came to straddle his waist. When she leaned down, he sat up, and they met halfway, recapturing each other's mouths with brutal urgency.

"Elena," he groaned, just as a strangled sound drew from the back of her throat. She smiled against his lips, feeling a short pang of relief, just then realizing some part of her had feared he'd say another name.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, crossing her ankles, and gripped his shoulders, their tongues and lips and teeth battling as he pivoted fluidly to his knees then lowered her onto her back, reclaiming dominance. She gasped into his mouth as his cool hand slipped under her shirt and slid along the overheated skin of her stomach, upward toward her chest, curving over her ribs and the rise of her breasts. Her fingers twisted in the soft strands of his hair and he nipped her lower lip with the tip of a canine and licked up the blood that dripped.

It wasn't until he had the button of her jeans open and was dragging them down her hips that Elena returned to her right-of-mind. Realization knocked into her like a rogue wave. Just what she was doing, exactly who she was doing it with, and just where they were came painfully into perspective. Her eyes flew wide and her hands went to push at his chest as she tried to sit up. When it did nothing, she shoved him back with a burst of urgent strength. He landed eight feet away when his back hit the stone fireplace, and Elena was already clambering backward on hands and heels, anticipating retaliation. But none came.

He didn't move for a long while. She stopped with her back pressed into the sofa and righted her clothing, though she couldn't take her eyes from him. She could see the struggle—a palpable process written over him—and didn't think he'd recover until she saw the red of his eyes begin to recede and the immensity of his body soften.

"I'm sorry," she said, finally brave enough to speak. "I shouldn't have done that."

His jaw clenched, and he came swiftly to his feet, somehow managing to tower over her from halfway across the room. "You can do whatever you want, Elena. There's nothing stopping you but some misplaced need to live by a rulebook."

The calm grace that he so easily adopted set her back. She ducked her head and tucked her hair behind her ear, wrapping an arm around her midriff. "It's not that easy. Unlike you, I actually have morals. When things matter to you, you can't just do whatever you feel like in that moment without any regard for consequence."

He looked away, shifted his body so it faced away from her as well, and stuffed a hand into his pocket. "Do you have any idea how sad you sound?"

"I wish you wouldn't do this," she sighed, shaking her head as confusion clouded her features. "Things are hard enough right now without you making it worse. If you had any respect for me as a person and not a doll, you wouldn't be tormenting me while I'm already tormented."

He turned back to her, appeared just inches away when she blinked, and crouched down. He drew her gaze to him and once they locked, she couldn't look away. He spoke succinctly. "Elena, believe it or not, I don't have any machinations to hurt you . . . anymore. So if you're tormented, it's your own doing. Not mine."

And she knew he was right. It was her own fault. He could make it easier though, by taking himself out of the equation. But she didn't want that. Yet she did. But she didn't. She was so confused. It was so much simpler when Damon was the evil brother she had to put up with in order to be with Stefan. Now, technically, she wasn't _with_ anyone . . . and she was in love with them both, evil psychopaths or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonnie collapsed into a limp heap on the Gilbert's floor. Her breath came as sharp and jagged twitches. Sweat slid down her furrowed brow from the strain. Her head was pounding. She heaved a hopeless sigh and made no move to get up. "This is pointless. I can't do it."

Outside the circle of flickering candles formed around her, Jeremy stood watching her. "Don't give up. You'll get it. You just have to keep trying."

"I can't," she cried. "I can't do it. I'm not good enough."

Jeremy's face drew taut and he took a small step over the threshold of the circle, towering over her. "How do you expect to protect the people you care about when you can't even protect yourself?"

Bonnie drew herself up into a seated position, looking up at him with an expression of misery. She shook her head. "I'm not strong enough."

Wordlessly, Jeremy kicked over a candle and it went rolling toward her, splashing hot wax everywhere. Bonnie jumped, startled, and winced as slices of it caked her exposed skin. She hissed and her narrowed eyes darted up to him. She caught the candle a millisecond before it rolled onto the carpet and caught the house on fire. He took a measured step to the side, his even stare never wavering from hers, and moved to kick another candle. His foot stopped an inch away from colliding with it. Bonnie's gaze darted down to it, surprised. Jeremy pressed on, trying to force his foot past the unseen force pinning it in midair.

Bonnie's face broke out, her lips twitched up into a broad smile and her dark eyes sparkled with joy. "Yes!"

The force slipped and Jeremy's foot collided with the candle, knocking it onto its side.

"Damn it," Bonnie hissed, near tears she was so frustrated. "That's it," she snapped, pushing up to her feet and stomping out of the circle, headed for the door. "This won't work."

She was two steps into the foyer when Jeremy caught up to her, grabbed her by the arm and twirled her around to face him. "You're not going anywhere," he said through his teeth.

Bonnie's eyes widened, trepidation flickering through her. Shocked, she tried to step back, but found both of his hands encircling her arms with almost bruising force. "Jeremy," she gasped. "What are you doing?"

He shook her once and her heart leapt into her throat. "What does it look like?" he said. "You think I'm gonna let you just walk out when you haven't even tried?"

"I have tried!"

"My sister's life is in danger and you're the only one I trust to protect her," he said in a dangerously low voice as his fingers flexed tighter around her. "If you cared about that, you wouldn't just walk out and abandon her."

"Stop it," she snapped, ripping herself from him angrily. Tears stung her eyes. She backed away but before she reached the door, he was on her, pushing her up against the wall and pinning her there. "Jeremy! Let me go!"

"Not until you try."

"I've _been_ trying!" she cried.

"Try _harder_," he bit out. Then he pulled her forward only to smack her back harder into the wall.

"Stop it!" she screamed, screwing her eyes shut and lashing out. Only he had her arms pinned, so she couldn't fight him. Something akin to a sudden gale wind whipped out from her and crashed into him, throwing him away from her.

Bonnie gasped as Jeremy was flung through the air and tossed back into the living room, where he crashed down over the end table and slammed into the back of the sofa.

"Oh my God," she gasped, rushing toward him. She skidded onto her knees beside him and her hands fluttered over his body in a panic. "Jeremy? Jeremy! Are you okay?"

He rolled stiffly onto his side and groaned. His face scrunched as pain radiated through him. The aches were killer. "Oh," he coughed. "That's debatable." Then, with her help, he pushed himself up into a seated position and leaned back against the sofa. "But it worked, didn't it?"

Bonnie drew back, wide-eyed and startled. Her gaze scanned over his face before her expression hardened. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" she accused. Anger filled her. "You jerk. You scared me."

Jeremy laughed, which turned into a cough halfway through, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "That was kinda the point, Bon."

"_Ugh_," she hissed, flinging herself away from him and stomping out of the room. She found herself in the kitchen and was pouring a glass of water when he followed her in.

"Your witchy powers are mostly based off your emotions," he said with a smug smile. "I wasn't sure before, but I am now."

Bonnie's narrowed eyes focused on his untroubled face, smoldering. "Great."

"But it is. Don't you get it? There's probably no limit to what you can do. Anything you can think of. You've just got to know how to provoke yourself."

As his jubilated words echoed through her thoughts, Bonnie felt a cold sliver of dread sink her stomach. She didn't want to have unimaginable powers . . . especially ones that she couldn't control.

Jeremy may have been excited at the possibility. But for Bonnie, it was terrifying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lightning crackled, flickering sharp streaks of silver through the bruised swirling sky.

A second later, another clasp of thunder boomed. The wind howled and hissed as it whipped around, smacking tree branches into the windows of the boarding house. The cacophony of sounds crashed obtrusively into the silence of the house. It was dark, and the flashes of lightning through the windows cast shadows through the creeping hollows of the Tudor house, as if something out of a gothic suspense.

Oddly enough, Elena didn't find it unsettling. In fact, she found herself drawn to the atmosphere, which was a good thing too, because she wasn't going to be going anywhere anytime soon.

She was curled up on the poufy leather sofa in the sitting room; the only light besides the storm was the flashing of the television. She had her back propped against Damon's shoulder, their only contact, and it was making her skin itch with dissatisfaction. Her flesh had been burning with the need to be touched for hours now and it'd been killing her. At the moment though, it wasn't so bad, because she was distracted.

'"_Are you okay?"_

"_Peachy, Kate. The world's my oyster . . . except for the fact that I just rammed a wooden stake in my brother's heart because he turned into a vampire, even though I don't believe in vampires. Aside from that unfortunate business, everything's hunky-dory."'_

As more gore and violence broke out in the movie, Elena shifted to look over her shoulder at Damon. His eyes rolled to her and he cocked a brow. "Don't you find Tarantino's portrayal of your kind offensive?" she asked.

His coral lips twitched up in amusement. "I would if it wasn't such a damn good movie."

Elena turned back to the TV with a frown. "But it's so . . . gruesome. I mean, look at those things. They're more monster than man."

His cool hand curved around her throat, and she started, gasping and twisting to see his eyes darkening with crimson and his canines extending. He smirked at her in full-on vampire face and pressed his thumb into the soft spot of the hollow of her throat. "And I'm not?"

'"_Alright vampire killers . . . let's kill some fucking vampires."'_

Elena's heart stuttered, pulse quickened, and the breath escaping her lips became sharp with trepidation. Her cheeks flushed and it trailed down to brush the curve of her chest. Fear gripped her, irrationally. Even more irrationally, _God help her_, she liked it—the thrill that went through her lit her senses on fire and she couldn't get enough of it.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she swallowed carefully. "You're . . ." She paused to steady her hoarse voice. "You're more dangerous."

"How so?" he intoned with a crook of his dark eyebrow and a lilt to his mouth. He drew a fingertip down along the collar of her shirt, moving it aside to expose the line of blush, and his eyes followed. The blood rising to the surface was nearly palpable to him, the hot rush of it made his mouth water and his teeth ache.

Her eyes trailed down to where her hand rested against his leg, using it to prop herself up. Suddenly, her awareness piqued and things rushed into dizzyingly clear focus. "Mm," Elena murmured deliriously, struggling to chase away the fog filling her brain. "You're the devil in disguise." Her fingers flexed their grip on his lower thigh, wadding in the thick material of his dark jeans. "They don't know to scream until it's too late."

Damon leaned forward and Elena drew back, arching over the curving arm of the sofa with bated breath. Furls of spice wafted from him, filling her sense of smell with invigorated sensation. "A pity too . . . I do enjoy the screams." He took his other hand from where it rested on the back of the sofa and used it to trace his fingertips over her cheekbone. He brushed astray tendrils of her dark hair behind her ear, delicately moving it over one shoulder.

Elena's brow drew together. "You do a lot of pretending, Damon. A lot of lying. I'd rather know one way or the other."

"Know _what_ exactly, Elena?" He planted his hands on the arm of the sofa on either side of her and levered himself up to hover above her.

She was trembling, ever so slightly, but noticeably nonetheless. She curled her hands in the soft fabric of his shirt, ghosting against the hard planes of his torso, and struggled stubbornly to steel herself. Why was she letting him affect her so badly? In a voice that belied everything she was feeling, Elena told him, "What it is you're doing. What you want from me. Why you're here. If you . . ."

He leaned closer, till they were a hairsbreadth from contact, and there was nowhere for her to go, so she just froze. The curve of her throat was bare and calling to him. Her shaky breath and nervously pouted lips strained against his restraint. Her body curved softly beneath the clothes hugging her. Combined with the heavy, uneven pounding of her heart and the jump of her pulse, it was too much to bear. Every fiber of her was calling out for him, _begging him_. Who was he to resist?

"If _I . . . _?" he prompted.

She tried to bite her tongue. She shouldn't say it. Shouldn't open herself up to vulnerability. Shouldn't give him another leg to stand on, something else to hold over her, to twist around and use to manipulate her. But the urge was too strong and her self-control had run away awhile ago. "If you really feel anything for me . . . or if this is still all about your brother and you're just making me care about you to prove something to him."

Damon pulled back in surprise, taken off-guard and shaken. He fell back against the opposite side of the sofa and stared. The loss of proximity, of his touch, sent Elena inwardly spiraling. It took a minute of recollection to piece herself back together. Once she had, she straightened tensely and pulled her knees up to her chest, feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable. Silence lashed out through the room, suffocating them both.

Finally, Elena roused the courage to speak again. "That is what this is, isn't it?" she declared carefully, anger and hurt creeping ever so perceptibly into her voice, lending it a subtle edge. But mostly, resignation reigned. "You've been playing with me like I'm some sort of disposable toy since the moment we met. It wasn't good enough just tormenting Stefan. You had to make this actually matter to me, too."

"I'm . . ." He trailed off, spectacularly, at a loss for words. He was what? He was . . . _confused_ was what he was. Why did she always have to throw him off his balance? When did he lose control of this situation?

Initially, it was clear what he was doing. He had a plan, a good one. He had designs . . . on her mostly. He had goals and he knew exactly what he intended to do. But now . . . now he wasn't so sure what he wanted to do. He hadn't given it any serious thought since things started to change. He'd planned to shape her into some semblance of Katherine, claim her as his own, and eventually . . . turn her to keep her for eternity, or until he tired of her.

But now . . . he was struggling with the intense need to steal her attentions away from Stefan. He needed her to forget about his brother. He needed her to choose _him_. _Love him_.

Why, though? Katherine was still in that tomb. Nothing had changed. A hundred and forty-five years of waiting for the chance to have her back, to right the wrong done so long ago, to save her, and he'd given up at the first chance he got. She was down there, not even five miles away from him, living in an abominable stasis that he and his brother brought upon her.

There was no reason to give up all hope of reviving her. Yet, how long had it been since he'd given any serious thought to that? His obsession had twisted until Elena was the focus, not Katherine, and his need to possess her. It had happened so gradually that he hadn't even noticed the change.

And now, with this messy storm raging inside of him, he knew he'd gotten in over his head, gone to a wretched place he swore he'd never go again. It was familiar, painfully familiar. History truly was repeating itself. This was how he had felt when he met Katherine, when he and Stefan had struggled over her. This need, it was the same as before, all those years ago.

With that epiphany rippling violently through him, a white-hot fire of anger rose up inside of him, blazed, and in turn set fire to his bloodlust. The red that had been receding in his eyes returned ten times harsher than before. His canines extended and he pivoted forward, crossing to her in a blur. Elena flinched back, a delayed reaction. His hand curved around the hollow of her throat and thrust her head back, exposing more of her to him. She gasped. He went down, pressing the lines of his body into her, pinning her. Her body tightened dangerously beneath him, terrified.

He brought his mouth close to her ear and rubbed his jaw along her cheekbone, breathing in, and then flexed his grasp on her throat as he spoke. "Don't worry about what _this_ is," he rumbled, practically growling in a rough, raw voice.

Her hands jumped to his shoulders, trying in vain to hold him back. She wiggled beneath him and choked back another gasp of fear. "Damon," she huffed shakily. Now her body was _really_ trembling. She tried to pull back, but found she couldn't move. He held control of her body as if she were a doll. It stiffened her spine and humbled her all at once. "_Damon_. Back off."

His hand twitched, cutting into her larynx. Elena choked. He watched her eyes go wide and curled his lips at the corners, slow and sure. The smell of her fear, the feel of her body, the sound of her blood pumping furiously through her veins thrilled him, soothed his bristled emotions. Everything was as it should be.

He dipped his head down and drew his tongue over her pulse point in one long strike, then moved toward her ear. He spoke slowly with hushed ferocity that shook her to the core. "Never forget what and who I am, Elena. It'll be the day you die."

There was a part of her that believed him, and believing it was more upsetting than him saying it. Something volatile quivered and unraveled inside her, lashing out against the fear. Her hands on him curled punishingly and she brought one of her bent legs up to lever it against his hip. Simultaneously, she snapped out and shoved upward, landing in an awkward straddle of his waist as she knocked him back. His hand still had her throat and with it he dragged her down till their chests bumped. Her palms planted on him to lever herself up, but he was overpowering. Their eyes locked.

"Let go," she warned.

He smirked at her valor and sighed, "Eventually."

Gritting her teeth, Elena flung them sideways, rolling off the sofa and slamming into the floor. He landed on top of her with a _smack_ and the air rushed out of her. She groaned even as her knee came up to wedge between them. She tried to push at his shoulder and twist her body to flip them, but his knees held a solid stance on the hardwood over her hips and his hand at her throat held her in place. He darted down, using his thumb hooked under her chin to thrust her head back at an angle.

"Don't!" She startled, stiffening under and against him, as brittle and ready to shatter as baked glass. After a second of his hesitation, she sucked in a shaky breath. "Damon, don't."

His mouth stretched into a dark smile, canines tickling his lips as he did so, and slid his grasp to the side of her neck. He lowered his head, slow and steady, his eyes never leaving hers. She tensed even more, if that were possible, when she felt the slight, dragging pinprick of his fangs smoothing over the hollow of her throat. She sagged with a sudden shiver under him, and her hands slid down to collide heavily with the floor at her sides.

The sound of a throat clearing had Elena's neck wrenching as her attention snapped to the doorway in surprise. Damon pulled back a bit and his lips curled thick-like-syrup into a devious smirk, his eyes still on Elena's face, his hand still brushing her throat, as Stefan stepped into the room, his hard expression directed at his brother.

Elena swallowed hard under Stefan's stare, and it wasn't even directed at her. Her heart pitter-pattered weakly and a tingling awareness crept up her spine. "Stefan," she said softly, her voice husky and her cheeks tinted. He'd left so suddenly, she hadn't known what to expect when he returned. And right now, she couldn't tell what he was thinking—at least not about what she wanted to know. It was obvious how he felt about finding his brother at this moment in time propped atop his ex-kinda-sorta-maybe-future girlfriend.

In perspective, she could see how bad this looked. And it made her fidget awkwardly. While wishing Damon would move off of her and searching for at least a semi-graceful way to recover.

Damon's mouth twisted higher in one corner as his eyes turned to Stefan. He drew his thumb listlessly over the hollow of her throat and she repressed the tremor that ran through her, knowing it would only make Stefan darker. His eyes followed Damon's movements over her flesh and the muscles of his jaw strained.

In a quiet, dangerous voice, he warned, "Get off of her."

Elena turned her head slightly, angling her eyesight to take in them both, and panicked. When Damon's lips parted in preparation of a comeback, Elena jumped. Her hand settled lightly on the one at her throat, pressing imploringly as she glanced between the two.

"Stefan?" she called carefully, as Damon's hand reluctantly allowed her to push it away. He rose onto his haunches, self-satisfied and smug.

Once she was out of his grasp, she leapt up and spun, suddenly moving slowly as she rounded the sofa, headed in Stefan's general direction. She was in reach of him when she came to a stop, tensing as Damon followed and rested his hands on her shoulders, brushing her back ever so slightly.

Stefan tightened with barely restrained fury. His jaw clenched, his eyes darkened, and his hands balled into fists. He didn't see Elena. He was aware of her, of course—aware of every heartbeat, every inch. But the peripherals of his vision went red and all that was clear was Damon, his triumphant smirk, his eyes that burned with a silent challenge. They were still red; the thirst was still strong in Damon, and Stefan could feel it radiating through him. It burned through him like fire and his self-control . . . self-destructed.

Elena slipped to the side, faster and more fluidly than she knew she was capable of, as Stefan lunged at his brother.

They went flying over the sofa and crashed into the television. Glass shattered and sparks flew, but the brothers rolled right over it all, not even noticing. Like wolves tearing at each other—all vicious snarls, growls, guttural words, and lashing limbs and teeth.

Elena gasped, a hand flew to her chest, and she sprinted out into the corridor as they crashed through the archway. It was a flurry of animalistic sounds and blurred limbs. They fought, and took time enough to yell words that sounded to her like a cassette on high-speed. She ran after them, screaming for them to stop till her voice turned raw and shrill.

_This is ridiculous,_ her mind screamed._ They're gonna kill each other!_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun had set an hour ago and Alaric was heightened into his twilight.

The night hours always invigorated him. He felt the urge to hunt. But now was not the time. He stifled the impulse and hardened into focus for the task at hand. It took him less than three seconds to reach the brook below the east end of the falls, and nearly ten minutes of traversing the length to find the body.

It was really just a lucky occurrence that he'd been at the Mystic Grill and within earshot of Sheriff Forbes when she'd got the call from the station's dispatch reporting an anonymous tip about a missing girl's body washed ashore at the falls. From the sounds of the search parties in the distance, he figured he had at least an hour before they caught up to him. And he'd be long gone by then.

In one fluid leap, Alaric crossed the uneasy river and landed on the rocky bank below. He moved to the declining gnarl of debris washed up from the falls and crouched slowly beside the body tangled in the sticks and rocks. The girl's clothes were stiff from drying in the mud and her body had already begun to decompose. Bloated and discolored, her skin looked as if in water-logged fraying layers. Her eyes stared lifeless and glassy up at the inky sky.

Funny thing was . . . he couldn't find any claw marks or gashes.

The air was sharp and fresh with the aftereffect of the storm. The rolling booms were still detectable in the distance and told him it was only a lull and the storm was far from finished. He wanted to be inside before it returned.

Carefully, Alaric drew his hand over the length of the girl's body. Rigor mortis had set in, making her stiff and brittle. He closed his eyes and concentrated, a deep crease forming in the middle of his brow, attuned his olfactory senses and focused, the vampire in him zoning out everything but the scent of her.

As soon as he zeroed in, he snapped back and slapped a hand over his nose, turning away in disgust. He'd expected a lingering scent of the thing that killed his wife, the lycan. But it didn't linger on her; it was caked, overwhelming and eye-wateringly unbearable.

He came to his feet and took a measured step back. Then he drew in a bracing breath and hesitantly refocused his sense of smell. It came at him like a tidal wave, knocking into him. His stomach roiled and his gag reflex nearly kicked in. Then he moved on from stunned and hardened, concentrating through it on the task at hand. And what he realized hit him like a punch to the gut. Disappointment echoed through him hollowly. The scent was similar, almost exactly, but not totally.

It wasn't the right one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caroline swept her ash-blonde hair over one shoulder and used a bobby pin at the nape of her neck to keep it there. Another pin brushed her bangs to the side in a swirl that twined with a lavender flower. She stood before her vanity mirror, trussing and fussing.

The cellular phone on her dresser buzzed. That was the third time. She didn't bother going to it, because she knew it was most likely her mother checking in on her again. The Sheriff had become so clingy lately.

Besides, the only one she was interested in hearing from tonight was Matt, and he'd already called to make sure she was on her way soon. He wouldn't call again. He wasn't that kind of guy, not that she was complaining. Maybe soon she'd need to rejuvenate his interest by making him jealous with one of his teammates, but not now. Right now, things were great. Better than great. Things were fabulous. If only her mom would get off her back.

Caroline let out an irritated huff as the phone buzzed. Now stubbornly ignoring it, she leaned over the dresser to get closer to her reflection and pursed her lips. The raspberry lip-gloss she'd applied before doing her hair had already lost its sheen. She clucked her tongue in annoyance and ran the brush over her lips again. After checking her eyes, her hair, and her dress one more time, Caroline spritzed herself with dark vanilla perfume and headed for the door.

Umbrella in hand, she bounded airily down her porch steps, head directed at her slippery sandals, and had barely landed on the cement pathway to the drive when she collided with something immovable. She let out a little yip as she fumbled backward, but ten snake-like fingers encircled her arms and pulled her back before she could fall flat on her backside.

Once her stance was steady, though her heart still raced uncomfortably, Caroline's face turned up, a sunny smile at the ready for whom she was expecting to find holding her. When her cerulean eyes locked onto dark obsidian orbs, Caroline gasped, flinching back, but got nowhere because the fingers encasing her arms held firm.

"Let go," she demanded shakily, leaning backward on her heels to get as far away from the stranger as possible. She pulled at her arms, trying to free them, but his grip was impenetrable.

Lightning crackled at the exact moment and assailed the heavy soundtrack of the relentless downpour around them. They were protected by the porch's overhang.

The man, unaffected by her reaction, smiled in a soothing way that tried to put her at ease. Caroline's light brow drew tight even as her heart started to calm. He was . . . he was beautiful, whoever he was. A foot taller than her, porcelain pallor, and fair sandy hair that her fingers itched to run through—he smiled at her like they'd known each other for years and he was just stopping by to say hi. It should have unnerved her, but she found herself relaxing in his grasp.

Caroline straightened her spine and smoothed her shoulders, craning her neck back in a dignified manner to meet his gaze evenly. Then she broke out into an accommodating smile. "Hi," she sighed, almost dreamily.

The man lifted a brow and his smile dimmed, pleased. He released one of her arms, only one. "Hello there, Caroline."

She frowned slightly, but even that wouldn't stick. "Do I know you?"

He moved his head to the side, dark eyes electrified and burning into her. "No."

Caroline laughed—a nervous and shaky sound that sounded strained even to her own ears. "Then how do you know my name?"

"Damon told me," he rumbled softly.

Caroline's heart stuttered. An edge sparked up in her ease. She tried to pull away again, pointlessly. "You're a friend of his?" she asked warily. Something pricked at her thoughts. _Damon_. She suddenly remembered. She was with Damon again. She was having an affair with Damon. She loved Damon and Damon loved her.

"Not quite."

Her expression hardened. "You must be Nicholas. Damon told me about you. He said to stay away from you."

"Now why would he do that?" Nicholas asked mildly, amusement vaguely flickering beyond his eyes. He took her elbow and led her up the steps back toward her front door.

Caroline followed helplessly. "He said if you found out that I was important to him that you would hurt me." Her eyes flicked up and down him with disdain. "Obviously, you know." They came to her door and stopped.

Caroline stiffened in his grasp and turned to him. "So now what?"

Nicholas turned his body toward hers as well and brought his free hand up to skip through her bangs. He pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes on her, and brought the hand to his chin. "Don't worry, Lovely. I'm not going to hurt you . . . not much, anyway." His pupils dilated and latched onto hers. "Now, don't you want to invite me in?"

Caroline's face slackened for a long moment, swirling in compulsion, before it faded and her features brightened. With a warm smile somewhere between giddy and sultry, she wrapped her hand around the doorknob. "Come inside, Nicholas."

"Love to," he retorted, upbeat.

As they went over the threshold together, the phone in Caroline's purse buzzed. She immediately reached for it, pausing in the open doorway as she looked down at it. '_Matt'_ flashed across the screen, and something tightened in her chest. Her thumb moved toward the green button on instinct before Nicholas darted out and snatched her wrist. Caroline's head popped up and she got sucked back into his enticing gaze. She went slack.

"Now's not the time, Lovely," he whispered. "Forget it."

Caroline nodded faithfully, slipped the phone back into her purse, and tossed the entire thing aside. It tumbled over the end table by the door and spilled over onto the floor, making a racket that went right over her head.

She followed as he beckoned and the door slammed shut behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonnie curled further into Jeremy's side, striving for his body heat and the comfort of the solid presence beside her. They were strewn over the sofa at the Gilbert house. The room was lit dimly by the warm glow of the table lamp beside the sofa they were using to read by. A blue microfiber blanket was thrown over her from where she'd stolen it off of his bed. In his lap, Jeremy held a frayed and tattered old leather-bound journal. The handwriting sprawling the yellowed pages was a strain on Bonnie's eyes. It was too much fancy calligraphy; she wasn't used to it, and had to concentrate to read each word. But it was worth it.

She was still amazed by just the sight of it. To think, she conjured Elena and Jeremy's ancestor's personal journal right out of the ether, with only Jeremy serving as a link to guide the incantation. She couldn't believe it had worked. Grams had told her she could conjure objects out of the ether, but there was nothing like the real thing.

They had only just realized for all intents and purposes that Astrid's diary was useless. It had been Jeremy's idea. He'd wondered aloud how easier this would be if they had Katherine's journal to go off of, not meaning anything at all by it. It was just their luck that Katherine even ever kept a journal. But that wasn't much of a surprise. After all, she was Elena's doppelganger.

Jeremy flipped another page and Bonnie's tired eyes drew to his index finger as he smoothed the tip lightly down the page as he read. He shook his head and made a soft noise with his throat.

Bonnie lifted her drooping head off his shoulder and frowned. "What?"

He just raised his brow, eyes still on the writing. "This Katherine was a real tramp. I thought people back then were so strict and proper and sex before marriage didn't exist."

The crease in Bonnie's brow drew deeper. She looked at him askance. "Come again?"

"First there was Jonathon Gilbert's little brother and the baby she just gave up to Jonathon and Astrid without a thought. And we all know about Stefan and Damon. But look at this, another one. She only wrote one passage on it, but it tells all about the short affair she had with a _'mysterious drifter that came into town in a carriage carried by the most magnificent black beauties she'd ever laid eyes on.'_ But get this. Turns out, that drifter was a werewolf."

"Lemme see that." She didn't wait for an answer before she snatched the journal from him and cradled it in her hands, squinting down with new vigor. After a long moment, Bonnie pulled back and let out a long sigh. "Before she pursued the Salvatore brothers, Katherine had an affair with a werewolf."

"Didn't I just say that?"

"Shush." She pulled the journal up her lap and swung her legs out from under her, rising to her feet to pace as she stared at the old book. "Not just a werewolf though," she said, "a purebred. From this, it looks like lycanthropes that are born with the disease have forms farther from the wolf. Katherine describes it as a giant-pawed, wiry-haired, silver-eyed monster more out of some ancient Greek mythology than anything close to a wolf. But she also says that while the drifter was in town, she witnessed only one person survive his attacks. That person became infected with lycanthropy and began transitioning. On the next full moon phase, she watched the infected shift and the form he took was that of a timber wolf."

Jeremy frowned, held up a hand to slow her down. "So . . . what's Elena gonna turn into?"

Bonnie hesitated just long enough to tuck her hair behind her ear and look up to meet his eyes. "Going by what Katherine wrote in her journal, since Elena was infected and not born a werewolf, she should turn into some sort of wolf and not the monster that attacked her."

"Well, that's great," Jeremy exclaimed, jumping from the couch.

Bonnie's face scrunched. "Come again?"

He strode to her and took her by the shoulders, vehement. "Don't you see? El was freaking out because she thought she was becoming that monster thing that attacked her. But, turning into a wolf once a month isn't so bad, now is it? 'Specially compared to what she was thinking was gonna happen."

Bonnie mulled that over for all of three seconds before shaking her head at him. "No. Elena doesn't want to be a werewolf, period. Who cares what shape she's gonna take. We're supposed to be finding a way to prevent it from happening, _period_."

Thunder rolled in a booming echo outside the window. The rain splattered against the glass noisily. Jeremy sent her a wry look then turned his head toward the night sky on the other side.

"Let's face it . . . she's probably already changed by now."


	10. Bad Moon Rising II

**Entry 10: Bad Moon Rising**

**Part II**

_Something's in the air tonight_.

It must be. There was no other explanation for the craziness going around in spades. Insanity, plain and simple, she was sure. _Full moon out there_, whispered an unfamiliar voice in her mind ominously. Funnily enough, as distant and stranger-like as it was, it so resembled her own. Elena suddenly felt as if a fingertip had skimmed down her spine. She shuddered.

Then Damon and Stefan crashed into the banister of the staircase and she was snapped back to alert—as efficient and jolting as a bucket of ice water thrown in her flushed face. Wood splintered to shreds in their wake. Elena leapt onto the up-step and hesitated under the archway between the parlor and the foyer corridor. Her hand rose to rest against the doorjamb, fingers digging into the polished wood as she bit down on her lip to stifle another yell. As proven, screaming would do her no good.

But something was roiling in the pit of her stomach and it was as disturbing as the pelting thunderstorm raging all around them. It didn't matter that the house shielded her from the brunt of it; it was just as affecting as if she had been standing naked out in the front yard under the icy needles and the loud booming and the uneven sharp stabs of electricity. For a moment, there was a fleeting desire to do just that. It was no better for her inside with these two trying to kill each other.

She wanted to tear out her hair, scream at the top of her lungs, screw her eyes shut, stomp her feet—freaking _anything_ to make them stop. She couldn't stand it anymore. She was boiling over and felt as if any second she would literally implode. There was too much coming at her, too much to take in. The storm wasn't outside anymore. It was in her, roiling, raging, beating at her control until she was absolutely sure it would soon bring her to her knees.

Overwhelmed, Elena's taut state shattered with a sick _snap_. She suddenly found herself right in the middle of their struggle with no idea how she'd gotten there. Unthinking, she plunged in and drew a hand to each of them, wherever she could reach—then found herself flying backwards after the back of an arm lashed out and collided with her chest with the force of a cement truck.

"Elena!" they both yelled in sync with each other—twin points of somewhere between surprise and panic.

She smacked into the corridor wall—the five-foot divider between the foyer and the parlor, instead of going through either opening on either side—and twisted as she thumped to the ground through the end table positioned below her. Table legs split off with sharp cracks and slid across the hardwood as she collided with the floor. Shattered glass of what was once a vase littered around her, doused in dried flowers, the crisp of them blundered into shreds.

It happened so fast—the accidental hit propelling her backwards, their simultaneous outcries, and her jolting land. A split second and it was all over. In fact, she really shouldn't have been aware of all the facets of it. But she was. Painfully. Unfortunately. She was. As the shock faded and the pain radiated through her like an earthquake, something else, much more terrifying rose in her. A white-hot rash of fire bundled low in her stomach, coiling tight before lashing out and licking every part of her with its burning touch until she was ruled by it.

Her body pulled taut, hands planting firmly in the glass littered floor as she raised herself up, head directed pointedly downward. She was suddenly aware, clearly so, of the body kneeling near her. _Stefan_. Her head snapped up to him just as a hiss of air left her lips. His face was painted with concern and guilt, but when they locked eyes, his features slackened. Her eyes glowed bright golden, feral, glinting with the volatile energy whirling inside her confining body. At his expression, she coiled even tighter, knuckles white.

Stefan regained his composure swiftly, and began to reach out to her, palm up. "Elena."

Damon sidled up to them, keeping at a small but noticeable distance. He raised a hand and swiped it across his chin, catching the blood accumulating there. "Damn," he breathed in monotone. "And I was sure she'd last till the final moon."

Their voices mingled as they filled her ears, stroking at her upset, soothing and riling her all at once. _Look at you_, the stranger-like voice hissed in a dark tone, distaste evident even through the silk of it. _Always submissive,_ it taunted. _They don't take you seriously. You have no power here. If you expect to keep them, you need to make it clear you have power. You can claim them. But not like this, not on your knees, not mousy and undemanding. What do you think you're doing, always bending to them? They'll never respect you. You have to take charge, show your worth. After all, you have that dead bitch to live up to. She was better than this, and even she couldn't make them hers . . . but you can._

It filled her mind, caressing every corner and cobweb. She wasn't sure she liked it, but there was a definite connection. It was a part of her. What kind of part, she had no idea. Agitated, Elena drew to her knees, hunched over, hair swaying protectively around her face, and her hands came up to her temples. "Shut up."

Damon and Stefan, who had been looking at each other as they spoke, turned back to her with furrowed expressions. "What?" Damon snapped.

_How do you expect to claim the men you love if you can't handle what they are?_

"Shut up," she said again, clearly, slowly, dangerously. "I _can_."

_Obviously,_ it drawled. The disdainful sarcasm was hers, she'd recognize it anywhere, yet it didn't come from her. She wanted to pound on her head, throttle something. She just barely managed to restrain herself from the idiotic impulses.

The confusion on Stefan's face had faded, paling in comparison to the worry that etched itself across his features. He reached out again, unthinkingly. "Elena—"

Fury roared inside her. She lashed out the second he touched her. "_Don't_," she growled, suddenly on her feet as Stefan slid violently across the hardwood to bash into the opposite wall.

Damon raised his eyebrows and tried to suppress the amused upturn of his lips. "Now, now, sweetheart . . ." he began in that typical Damon fashion, soaked in condescending humor.

She reared on him, eyes still glowing. "You be quiet."

The harshness of her voice darkened his eyes, all amusement fleeing him. He lifted a dark brow into an arch very slowly, eyes darting over her. Stefan rose to his feet, regarding her carefully. The pity in his eyes rattled her, though some part, something rational left in her didn't mind it, understood it.

"Elena," Stefan said, taking a measured step in her direction. "I get what's going on inside you, the struggle. But you have to keep yourself intact. You can't let your instincts rule you."

She shook her head, hair bouncing wildly as her fingers curled into her palms. She ground her teeth together. The part that had been her only moments ago was steadily shrinking into the background as the animalistic and rawness of the dark presence possessed her.

"And how exactly," she began in a scathing tone directed at them both, "am I supposed to do that? I feel like I've been trapped in a box two sizes too small for my entire life." She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders back. Lightning flashed through the massive parlor windows, basking them in strobes of silver. "And the box just broke."

The hungry gleam in Damon's eye was noticed through her periphery. It clicked with something stifled inside of her. Possibilities and aspirations flitted through her mind at hyper-speed. But Stefan wasn't ready to join them. A slight shake of his head drew her attention to her ex-boyfriend. Their eyes locked and her head cocked to one side.

"I know how intoxicating it feels right now, but trust me . . . you don't want to lose yourself to this, Elena."

She let out a hollow laugh. "This _is_ me, Stefan." She took a step forward and her face darkened, lips curled just barely at the corners of her mouth. "Or don't you get that?"

"Don't worry about him," Damon put in lowly from behind her. "Stefan's always going to have that masochistic aversion to freedom. It's an irremovable part of him, always has been, always will be." He dared to move closer. "He can't understand your liberation."

Stefan's eyes tore away from Elena as she stood before him—mere feet away yet seemingly an ocean of distance from him—and jumped to his brother, narrowing as the anger rose up again. "Don't do this, Damon." Stefan hardened, clear, cold, and quiet. The danger radiated from him, thickening the air around the three.

A part of her wanted to soothe it, because she could see, so easily she could see through him, past the anger, to the hurt and the concern and the fear. Fear for her. And love. Love was there, in his eyes, mingled now with the bitterness of a century-old struggle.

But Elena hadn't been around for that. The history was thick, almost suffocating, and it wasn't even hers. Somehow, she'd fallen into a trap that was over a hundred years in the making—a setup, the brothers, their bitter anger, their grudge, their need, and their love. It was all waiting . . . for her to come along and fall into it. And now that she was here, stuck in the middle between two brothers that hated each other just a bit more than they loved one another, she felt gypped.

Her resentment of Katherine grew another meter. But more than that was her determination. It was too late now to do anything but hold on, stand tall, and make this work. It couldn't work, of course it couldn't, but she wasn't ready to accept that yet. Not until she'd exhausted her every effort, walked down every pathway, tried every emotion, every word, and every action.

She felt herself being pushed to the sidelines as the brothers and their aggression zeroed in on each other and clinked once more.

"You'll know you don't want to do this, if you think about it. You know this isn't what she wants." Stefan was holding on to his last thread of restraint, resorting to near pleading as he shook with the urge to release his anger into violence.

Damon let out a sharp laugh and tossed a quick glance over his shoulder at Elena, who was watching them and not really seeming like she was paying any attention at all. "Oh, but I do, _brother_," he drawled darkly. "This couldn't get any better if I had machinated it myself."

Stefan's restraint buckled. Accusation etched across his face. "All you care about is getting back at me. I won't let you use her because she's a part of Katherine. She deserves better . . . better than me, a hell of a lot better than you."

Damon neared his brother, slanting toward him threateningly. "You really think you can keep me from her?"

"I know I can."

Damon let out a sharp bark of laughter under his breath, eyes sparkling molten darkness. "Not if she doesn't want you to."

That seemed to deflate Stefan's valor, but only the tiniest bit before he steeled himself. "It doesn't matter. You manipulated her. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to keep her safe . . . from us both."

"Even if it's not what she wants?" Damon wondered with a mildly curious quirk to his brow.

"Even if," Stefan murmured.

Damon cast a subtle glance back at the girl in question, whose displeasure was as evident as a semi in broad daylight, then burned his gaze into his brother, easing his façade down to let out just a hint of the intensity inside him. Anymore and he'd be giving Stefan a weapon to be used against him. He couldn't just give out his weaknesses, now could he? "I'd like to see you try," he challenged, quieter than even Elena's newly heightened ears could detect.

"This isn't happening again," Stefan snapped.

"I beg to differ. As daunting as it is."

At the nonchalance of his brother's tone, the last of Stefan's restraint snapped. He lashed out, blurring as he fisted his hands in Damon's shirt and swung them around till his brother's back made an indent in the woodwork of the foyer's wall.

Lost in her own thoughts and the argument ensuing between Elena and the new voice in her head up to this point, she was knocked back to attention at the loud slam that rang through her ears.

Damon struck out, knocking his brother easily into the other wall. As Stefan gathered himself up to his feet amidst the destruction of the hanging mirror he'd fallen into, Damon calmly straightened his shirt out with a put-upon sigh and rolled his eyes, readying for another bout. It was becoming rather bothersome, even with his abnormal taste for violence.

"Alright then," he declared in a bored tone. He eyed Stefan and shortly waggled his fingers in an impatient 'come on then' gesture.

Stefan took two steps for him before Elena was suddenly standing between them, looking fed up and thunderous in the shadowy hall. They both blinked. It wasn't often that either of them didn't see a movement, but she hadn't even blurred. She was fluid and smooth as silk. Damon's lips twitched up. Stefan looked startled, broken from his blinding rage as it lowered to an insistent simmer pressing at the boundaries of his hold on it.

"That's it!" she snapped. Her furious voice echoed with the accompanying roll of thunder.

Damon leaned back on his heels, his shoulders pressed into the solidity of the wall behind him. Stefan slid his hands into his pockets to keep them immobile and refrained from moving between her and his brother.

He'd thought Damon was beginning to care for her, and at first, he thought this was a good thing. He thought if his brother cared about Elena, then he wouldn't have to worry about him hurting her. Oh boy, how wrong he was. There were worse things Damon could do. And Elena mattering to him, from Stefan's viewpoint, was the absolute worst thing that could've happened. Now there were so many other things he had to protect her from. After all, Damon was Damon.

Elena let out a rush of air, fists unfurling as she stood between them, eyes narrowed and bouncing slowly between the two vampires.

"I've had enough of you two constantly going at it."

Damon raised his brow and pursed his lips in irritation.

Stefan ducked his head and pressed his lips into a thin line with regret.

Elena was unimpressed. Her right hand rose unconsciously and smoothed across the plane of her stomach. She felt sick, dizzy with the strength of her own storm. When she went on again, it was in a forceful, angry, succinct voice.

"I need you. Both of you. I need you here with me right now. Not tearing at each other's throats," she said through clenched teeth.

Damon darkened, his eyes burning into her intensely. An unreadable expression flickered over his features. Stefan softened, his anger fading into the background as he stared at her face, taking in every nuance, soaking up every emotion, every sensation that she emitted. But the hurt, the unhappiness, it was there behind his eyes.

"I'm sick of it. You dragged me into this, whether either of you like it or not! And now I'm here. And I know I need to walk away, if not for my own sanity than for your wellbeing. But I can't. So deal with it. I sure as hell am!" she ground out, her voice steadily rising.

Neither was tempted to interrupt her. They let it flow from her, hoping it would release some of that energy.

"You stand here going at it like bloodthirsty dogs with me stuck in the middle, using me as an excuse so you can duke it out over old wounds that you've worked hard to keep festering. I'm not Katherine. Katherine's gone. She's been gone for a hell of a long time and unless either of you decide to do something about it, she's not coming back."

Damon tensed, hardening to a breaking point. Still, he remained silent, watching her.

"So you turned on each other over a woman. So what? It was a century ago. Lifetimes have gone by. And yet here you both are, desperately clinging to this bitter hatred that does no one any good. It's not going to make you happy. You keep this up and eventually, one of you is going to die and the other will be left alone for the rest of his miserable, _immortal_ existence. Is that what you want? You Damon? Or you Stefan? Is that what's going to make you happy?"

Another strike of lightning flashed through the foyer, skimming over the three of them in their respective jagged edges.

Elena paused, took a deep breath, and let it out in a long sigh. Her self was gaining ground. When she continued, her voice had lost a little bit of its edge, sounding wearier, less fervent, though still completely resolved.

"_I_ don't want it to end that way. That's the last thing I want. And if I matter to either of you in the slightest, you'll take that into consideration as you battle each other into your graves." The bitterness crept into her voice, even after she'd resolved to keep it out.

Stefan and Damon swallowed hard at the same time, but Damon clenched his jaw closed as Stefan found his voice. "Elena," he began uncertainly.

She softened again, but wasn't finished. "If you can't get over the memory of Katherine and what happened between you three, then please, tell me. Because if you can't handle this, I'll leave," she declared. "Right now." It wasn't a threat, just a decision. "And you two can settle whatever's between you or drag it out for another century. But I won't be a stand-in and I won't take your animosity." She took one fluid step back until she was no longer between them, but holding her own edge, forming a triangle. It was unintentional, but she did notice it, and couldn't help but inwardly scoff at the irony. "Figure it out."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alaric returned home to find Jenna in his kitchen, sipping a mug of steaming coffee and staring at his notes—the ones that had been hidden under the newspaper clippings she'd found just last night.

He stopped in the doorway, distractedly tugging off his coat and toeing out of his boots. He tried to shrug it off, but the discomfort that had risen at the sight of her so thoughtlessly perusing through his writings was relentless. That was everything he'd learned about his wife's murderer—the pattern, the trail, the characteristics of the creature. He didn't like her getting into them. It wasn't her place. This was private.

Silently, Alaric entered the kitchen. Jenna looked up, saw him, and smiled. That same warmth that had drawn him to her in the first place emanated from her now. It was almost enough to soothe his sour mood. Not quite though. He brushed past her toward the resting coffeepot and plucked the notebook from her hand as he past.

With his back to her, jaw clenched, he felt Jenna turn to face him. There was nothing in her heartbeat or pulse or even her soft shallow breaths to suggest that she was aware of his agitation. But when she spoke, her voice carried hints of concern and hesitancy.

"I hope you don't mind. I probably shouldn't have gotten into it, but I was worried. I just thought . . . I don't know."

He turned to lean back against the counter's edge, just in time to see her shake her head in confusion and sigh.

"I'm just new at this . . . not used to having so many people to look after."

Alaric's brow drew down softly. "Jeremy and Elena?" he murmured. "What have they got to do with—?"

She looked up and their eyes met. The suspicion inkling there was obvious. "Things are starting to piece together, Rick. And I really don't like what I'm realizing."

_Hmm_, he thought mildly, _she's more perceptive than I assumed_. In a carefully modulated voice, he spoke up. "You're thinking of Elena?"

She didn't seem all that surprised that he knew what she was talking about. "Mostly, but not even just her," she said. "A lot of weird things have been going on, with the town, specifically with Elena and Jeremy." She went thoughtful for a moment. "Bonnie too, and the Salvatores, and I just kept shrugging everything off like I was just imagining things or being paranoid, but then I found your research and it all just . . . clicked."

"What did?"

Jenna gave a shaky laugh and ran her fingers through her hair, tucking the auburn locks behind her ear. "I'm not quite sure yet."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Elena," Stefan called after her.

She set her jaw and didn't hesitate as she slammed the door behind her and rushed down the porch steps and out into the yard. The icy needles of rain pelted into her, but her body was too heated to shiver. In a matter of seconds she was utterly drenched from head to toe. She was stalking across the lawn toward the driveway when he caught up to her and grabbed for her arm. He spun her halfway around before she pulled from his grasp.

"Elena, stop," he said calmly over the thunder. "You can't just—"

"Yes, I can," she cut in stubbornly. "You two need to get it together and I need to let you figure it out. I'm going home."

"But your—"

"I'll deal with it on my own," she stated with a heavy note of finality, then spun on her heel—and almost rammed right into Damon, who was suddenly standing casually in her path. After the initial second of surprise and the quiet gasp, Elena steeled. "Move."

He wasn't impressed. "Where do you think you're going?"

She tilted her chin. "Home." Then she tried to move around him. He moved with her, so did Stefan, and she was chagrinned to realize that she was boxed in by two determined vampires. The voice didn't like that, not at all. "I'm serious," she warned. "Move out of my way."

"Elena," Stefan reasoned, "Think about this for a minute. You're on a very dangerous precipice right now. By leaving, you're not only putting yourself in harm's way but you're also endangering innocent people. What about Jenna and Jeremy? You can't go home."

She spun around to him, grating her teeth against Damon's mildly entertained demeanor and feeling better as she put her back to him. "Don't tell me what to do, Stefan. I'm not going to hurt them."

"You don't know that."

She took a step forward, bringing them nearly flush. "Yes," she said in a clear voice, "I do."

A lightning strike crackled in the distance, lighting up the bruised sky.

She was surprised when she brushed past him in a determined stride that he let her by. But the feeling of victory lasted less than three steps before she found herself ripped away from the ground and thrown over someone's shoulder.

Elena yelped, taken aback, before the irritation sparked. She threw her head up, whipping wet tendrils of hair from her face, and saw Damon sauntering after her with an amused smirk. Their eyes met and he winked. Then Stefan climbed the porch steps and Elena's hands gripped his shoulders, trying to lever herself up.

"Damn it, Stefan, put me down!" she demanded.

As he tried to take her through the doorway back into the house, she lashed out and snatched the sides of the doorframe, holding on with all of her strength. Surprisingly, she actually managed to halt him for a few seconds before Damon pried her hands from the wood and they dragged her inside. The heavy slam of the front door echoed through the house, a note of finality that actually stuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jenna came home to find the porch light on and the front door unlocked. She knew that meant that the kids weren't in bed yet. She clucked her tongue and shook her head as she quietly slipped into the house and turned to lockup behind her. She flicked the porch light off and set down her bag, while toeing out of her shoes and then removing her scarf and coat.

She moved out of the foyer, headed for the kitchen, but stopped when she reached the living room. There on the sofa was Jeremy, stretched out sideways, head lolled backward onto the cushion and shoulder propped against the arm of the sofa. His legs were kicked up and strewn over them was Bonnie's. The dark-skinned girl was slouched over, head on Jeremy's chest, arms tucked between their bodies.

Jenna frowned and shook her head at the sight of them. What was going on around here these days? She should feel ashamed of herself at the horrible job she'd been doing lately at parenting. But all of their clothes were still own, so she let them snore on.

Sighing, she moved around the sofa, bending to quietly snuff out the candlelight that was flickering all around them. There were candles everywhere for some reason. She hadn't thought they even owned this many candles. _What the hell?_ Was Jeremy dating Elena's best friend now? This looked like the setup to a bad rom-com scene.

Though the idea didn't exactly sit right with her, Jenna couldn't begrudge her nephew a little happiness. It came so few and far between nowadays.

Once all the fire hazards were out, Jenna grabbed an afghan off the back of the loveseat and draped it over the kids, only pausing to carefully pull the old book he was clutching out of his grasp. She turned to set it down on the coffee table when something fell out of it.

Jenna bent, reaching for the fallen item, and realized it was an old photograph. She had it between her fingers and was straightening, but when she flipped it over and spotted the image, the photo slipped from her grasp and fell back to the floor as Jenna's hand flung to her mouth to stifle her gasp.

Wide-eyed, she glanced down at the kids to make sure she hadn't woken them, and then, with shaky hands and shuddery breaths, she bent and picked the photo back up, cradling it and the book against her chest while she hurried out of the room.

Jenna raced upstairs and didn't take a breath until she had her back pressed against the closed door of her bedroom. Hyperventilating, she slid to the floor with her knees bent to her chest and set the old book down beside her. Cradling the aged material gingerly with both hands, she stared at the image, blinking, waiting for what must be a hallucination to fade.

But no matter how long she stared, how hard she looked, the image remained the same, and Elena still stared back at her.

'The Pierces, 1842'was scrawled in Vivaldi script at the bottom of it. It depicted a family, looking typical and exactly like all the other images she'd seen of the mid nineteenth century—a father, a mother, two little boys, one little girl.

But it was the teenage daughter that stood tucked between the father and the eldest boy that unnerved her. She was wrapped up in overly ostentatious and impractical garments with hair corralled into a thousand little spirals all twirled up with barrettes. None of it anything Jenna would recognize. But the face that stared coolly back at her was the face of her niece, exactly perfect. It was Elena. But it couldn't be. But it was.

Unable to take her eyes off the photograph, Jenna blindly reached out a hand for the book she'd set aside. She stretched her legs out in front of her and brought the book up onto her lap. Finally, a few minutes later, she was able to tear her gaze from the photo and turn her attention to the old book. The leather-bound cover was starting to fray. Inside it was a thick stack of rough and yellowed parchment paper, sown together at the spine. The title page had the same scribbled scrawl as the photograph.

_Property of Katherine Pierce_, it read.

Jenna took in a deep breath, steadying herself, and then tentatively moved the parchment, turning the page. The next few were blank. But then she came across the first entry, and her heart sank into her knotted stomach.

She didn't understand. But she needed to know.

_Entry One: October The Third, 1864_

_I am beginning a new diary this morning, because in our rush to flee Georgia, I was forced to leave the majority of my belongings behind, my calf-skin journal included. It pains me to do this, because that book was dear to my heart. I had carried it with me for the last decade. I had been through many experiences with that book and I am sad to say goodbye._

_Alas, today is a new day and I am pleased to note that the sun shines brighter over Mystic Falls than any other province this side of New Orleans. My cheeks are rosy and if my heart could beat, I imagine it would be skipping in time with my steps. There is a fresh essence in the air that holds promise of a new and wonderful beginning._

_Our caravan arrived a fortnight ago and I immediately found myself a new home here amongst the Salvatores, who are very prominent in this province. The head of the household, Giuseppe, lives a little on the stern side for my taste, though I dance around him finely enough for now. His wife passed away of influenza several years ago and he has no daughters._

_Without extended circumstances, this arrangement may be considered improper by some townsfolk. But I am saved from insidious talk, for Noah had come three fortnights ahead of us to establish himself here in Mystic Falls and ease our arrival. He has formerly introduced me as an unfortunate Georgian young lady, orphaned by a fire during the Atlanta Campaign._

_That Noah, how I am indebted to him for so many things, I cannot even tally. I do not wish to spurn him. In fact, I must avoid it, if not for my own convenience, then for Pearl, Anna, Isadora, Isobel, and Cassandra's sakes. We would be severely debilitated without a respectable man such as Noah to assist us in these endeavors. After all, we are just women. Without husbands, any of us._

_Oh, I shudder at that thought and cannot help but laugh. Me? Married? Oh Lord. Though, Pearl has been searching for a suitable partner. But one of those is so difficult to find in this day and age. Myself, well, I love the taste of liberation far too much to bind myself to another so eternally._

_So now, I must avoid Noah for the rest of our stay here. He has not given up his ridiculous obsession with me. I am afraid if we spend any more time together he just may resort to insisting I be his. That would, by far, be the worst possible event to occur to me. For I have set my eyes on another, two others, to be specific. My eyes and my affection have settled on the most unexpected pair of fellows._

_It is the Salvatore sons who have occupied my thoughts day and night since my arrival._

_Stefan Salvatore is quiet and serious. He has a kind and compassionate heart. Damon, on the other hand, has mischief in his eyes and deviousness in his smile. He seeks more out of life than what has been handed to him. They both do, I believe._

_They are handsome creatures, undoubtedly, but it is more than that. It is something that goes soul deep. It shines from their eyes and has knocked me breathless. I am fascinated. I am devoted. I am determined._

_We must leave soon. Much longer here will surely provoke the town's suspicions. Pearl reminds me of this almost daily. But I find myself giving her excuses, prolonging our stay for longer than what is safe. I cannot leave until they are each ready to leave with me._

_Pearl and Isobel have both discouraged me from carrying on with either, and I cannot say I disagree with their reasoning. Sadly, I cannot seem to help myself._

_I have introduced them both to my world. Damon is eager to be turned, even after seeing firsthand what being one of us entails. Stefan has accepted that I am what I am, but is still hesitant around the topic. I fear it is only because of my compulsion that he is devoted. I worry whether he will indeed follow through when I reveal what it is I have planned for him. Damon, I do not have to worry about. I have never needed to compel him, not even that first night. He is completely infatuated with me and will do as I please._

_I appreciate this, I do. But I will not be satisfied until I have both of the Salvatore sons given over to me. Promising themselves to me is not enough. I cannot risk a flicker of doubt when the time comes, because I fear that we do not have long left to go on in leisure. Eventually, likely sooner than later, the real world will catch up to us with its pitchforks and its torches of fire. No matter where we go or what we do differently, it always finds us. Always._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last thing Tyler remembered was playing _Halo_ on his PS3 in his bedroom.

It had been storming, he could remember. And it knocked the power out. He was pissed, because he'd just lost all the progress he'd made on his game. He'd thrown the controller across the room in a fit of rage and stomped out. Of course, the house had been empty. Mom was away on retreat; it was spa week. Dad was just AWOL, as per usual. And Liz and Raul both had the night off.

He'd stormed around the darkened house for awhile, looking for candles to light and kicking the odd piece of furniture as he went, before it all got to be too much. He'd found himself outside in the rain. He'd found himself running away from the house, ignoring his car, just running down the street. The rain pelted down onto him and stung, but it only drove him to move faster, fiercer. He couldn't breathe.

And then everything blurred. He couldn't explain the gap in his mind. All he knew was that one minute he was running down the street with lightning searing his inner ears, and the next he was on his hands and knees in the woods outside the cemetery, writhing in the dirt.

And then he knew that it was happening again. Whatever had happened to him last night, when he'd blacked out and woken up naked in the grass on the football field just as the sky was beginning to lighten, it was happening again. He was turning. His body was burning again, lit on fire and convulsing. It felt like he was being ripped apart and he couldn't help but scream at the sensations hammering through him.

Then everything was still and the pain was gone and he was basked in a warm ethereal feeling and everything was okay. He rolled off of his back and onto his feet. His . . . paws? He couldn't see himself, but he could feel it, feel the new form that was his body now. It freaked him out, yes, but nowhere near as badly as it should have. In fact, he was scarily at peace with it. Some part of him had known what was going on.

He craned his neck up and stretched out his stiff muscles. He needed to run, needed to adjust to this newness. But before he could take race, something stirred in him. There was somewhere he needed to be. Somebody was calling for him. And he couldn't ignore it. He had to follow the pull from deep down that was tugging him north.

He followed, gaining speed, no trouble at all. He felt like quicksilver, smooth and weightless enough to fly, strong and fast enough to keep going forever. It all blurred into streaks of green and brown, only the slashes of lightning cutting through it with any kind of symmetry.

This instinctive impression kept pulling at him and it was so innate that, as he flew through the woods with a liquid grace he'd never possessed, he barely noticed that he was being led—until he was jerked to an abrupt halt, just having broken out into a clearing.

Ahead of him some meters was the clearing that the old Fell's church used to stand before it was destroyed by a fire in the eighteen hundreds. He was here, he just knew. And with a softer tug, he was led beyond the remnants of the church and toward the mausoleum, a gathering of chipped stone and fallen structure. The pines just around him were dead and baron and he wanted to turn and go back. He didn't like this place. It reeked of death and decomposition. But he couldn't, because he was supposed to be here.

And then he saw it—the one that called him here. It was huge, so much bigger than him, and frightening. It turned its head and its platinum eyes bored into him. Shivers ran along his skin as his hackles rose. He found his feet moving forward of their own accord, bringing him closer to the strange one.

_Who are you?_ It rang out through his thoughts. He'd been trying to speak, to ask the strange thing what was going on. But his jaw was shaped funnily. He couldn't manage to form the words on his tongue. All he could do was think it, really loud. Fat lot of good it'd do him.

The creature turned away from him and lowered its snout to the ground, where—Tyler just noticed—something was lying. He took another step forward and took a good look. It was a girl. Beyond that she had bright blonde hair and was petite, he couldn't make anything else out. Her face was caked in blood from where the mangled mess of her throat had pooled over her head, covering her face and hair, because of the angle she was crumpled into. Something unsettling crept up his spine, but the smell filling his nostrils made his throat constrict. The blood was fresh and warm, oozing invitingly, calling for him. He found himself yearning for it, even as he felt vaguely sickened by the sight of her.

He took another step, and that's when something on her ankle caught his eye. Over the bone that was trying to jut out at the wrong angle and break free of her flesh, there was a marking in onyx and yellow cardinal ink. It was a fleur-de-lis, something he only knew because Natalie Pierce had informed him of it when she was showing off her new tattoo at school last month. Tyler's stomach roiled. But it didn't make the scent of the blood any less enticing.

He took another step that brought him up to Natalie's other side. The creature's head snapped up as it growled and Tyler leapt back, panicked. He turned, fully intent on running off before the creature decided to do to him what it'd done to Natalie.

He just barely brushed past the line of trees at the edge of the clearing when the pull reappeared in the pit of his stomach, bringing him up short. He froze, too afraid to look behind him as he heard the creature's paws hit dirt as it advanced on him at a terrifyingly slow pace.

_Come back here, boy._ The unfamiliar voice reverberated through his head, echoing and booming as it bounced off the walls of the hollow cathedral of his mind. He stiffened, fur at the back of his neck bristling. Then the creature appeared in his periphery and he had no choice but to turn to face it with his jowls downturned. _Do you understand what's happened to you?_

Tyler nodded. He was too tense to do anything else.

_Good. That saves me time._

Unable to resist, Tyler put all of his energy into one thought. _Who are you?_

The creature rounded on him, circling with its tail held stiff. Its gaze roamed over him in an unsettling manner; judgment glinted in its eyes. _I'm Gabriel,_ it told him in a gruff voice.

He searched his brain. It was a vaguely familiar voice, but he couldn't place it. Nor could he get anything out of the name it had just given him. _What're you doing here?_

_Waiting for you,_ it said. _I need you do to something for me._

_Why would I?_ It was a reflexive response, one he had no control over but was already regretting. The way its eyes hardened into steel silver on him made shivers stampede up and down his spine. He gulped, worried for the sake of his exposed throat. _I don't know what's going on. Why would I do anything for you?_

It stilled mid-step, paw hovering centimeters from the ground. _Because I made you,_ it answered. _And you have no choice._

Tyler swallowed again. Normally, this would be the point where he told this Gabriel thing to promptly _fuck off_. But his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Just as the innate intuition-like presence in him had led him to this place, the same pull urged him to not go against this creature. It was his maker. Even though he didn't quite understand it and wasn't entirely sure he knew what it meant, he couldn't disregard it. Tyler was guided by an unseen force inside him. This force was making it _physically_ impossible to leave, or so it seemed. The truth, as inexplicable as it was, was that he didn't _want_ to disobey Gabriel.

_What do I do?_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"_Ugh_!"

Elena landed on her back with a grunt, the air rushing from her lungs with a hiss. A loud crash resounded through the room as Stefan landed somewhere across the room from her.

Damon let out a low whistle from his perch at one of the parlor windows to her right.

She lunged upright with a grimace and found Stefan's eyes as he picked himself up and dusted himself off. "I told you to let me go," she said through her teeth, justifying herself.

Suddenly, the room fell into a deafening silence after the sharp crack of thunder resounded right above their heads and the house was plunged into darkness. The pelting surf-roar of rain outside halted almost instantaneously. The air went still as the storm died, quick like a snapped neck rather than the typical pace of bleeding out.

Something almost akin to panic skittered up Elena's spine. Her throat constricted to the point that she almost couldn't breathe. The clouds dissipated and the full moon shone through, grazing silver light down through the massive parlor windows. Her hand came to her throat as a soft thickness of film settled over her, numbing everything. Then the howling started.

The reaction ripped through her so violently, so suddenly, that she gasped, head thrown back, and felt it coil through her like electricity, her muscles bunching and twisting, pulling into a tightly wound ball of paroxysm before lashing out. But the lashing was more like an explosion that surged wide from her core, licking through her system like fire, slithering through her bloodstream like poison, laying a panging ache in her brain that hammered off the walls of her skull.

Her hands smacked into the hardwood of the floor as she doubled over, jaw straining open in a silent scream.

It started in her stomach as something writhing and squeezing, rippling outward till it reached her fingertips and toes. She tried to grit her teeth to keep quiet, but couldn't quite stop from crying out.

"No, no, no, no," she murmured, breathy and strangled, shaking her head and making her hair sway to and fro, hands curling into claws against the hardwood.

_It's happening. It's happening. It's happening._

"Elena—"

"Oh God, make it stop," she groaned, wrapping an arm tightly around her midsection, as if she could hold this at bay. Her spine arched as the muscles in her shoulders tightened in on themselves. The strain was like agony, so extreme that she was terrified she'd tear and splinter under the pressure. Above all of this though was the fear, the pure horror that quivered through her. She felt as if her heart was distending as it pounded against her ribcage.

_This can't happen_, she thought. _This can't happen_. Over and over again, she ran it through her mind, resisting the aching burn that was set afire inside of her. _I won't do this. I won't. Leave me alone. Stop. Stop now. I can't._

She forced herself up onto her knees, and then forcibly pulled her digging hands away from the floor and fell back onto her haunches, clamping her fists down in her lap. She screwed her eyes shut and started taking deep breaths, but each inhalation rattled through her diaphragm like little tsunamis and made her teeth ache. No, her teeth were aching because she was grinding them so hard.

This calming down thing wasn't working. The energy was only punishing her for every second she tried to hold it down. _Leave me alone_, she ran the mantra on a loop in her thoughts. But the frustration was only angering her and the stronger the anger got the more powerful the energy become. It was only intensifying.

_Leave me alone!_

_Just accept it. Accept me,_ the voice urged.

Elena convulsed again, slamming her hand down on the hardwood and snapping, "Damn it!" The dark voice was back. She hated it, hated that it was her voice, but not her, yet a part of her, and all she wanted to do was kick it the hell out of her head.

_Impossible_, it answered.

"Shut up. Just shut up," she demanded, bringing her hands to her head and tangling her fingers in her hair. She lifted her head, turning her face skyward, and bit down on her lip so hard she drew blood. But the slight sting was nothing compared to the pandemonium raging inside of her.

Hands encircled her wrists suddenly and she jumped, eyes snapping open and body going even more rigid. She'd lost focus of her surroundings, forgotten all about them, actually. She lowered her head and found Stefan crouched in front of her, solidly gripping both of her wrists and urging them downwards. She shook her head, trying to hedge away from him. It wasn't safe. But he wouldn't release her.

"Elena," he said softly, tilting his head imploringly and slanting toward her. "Elena." He waited until he saw her eyes focus on him, clear and alert. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

She opened her mouth a few times, breathing, struggling. Then, she swallowed past the golf ball in her throat and made it make sound. "There's this voice. It won't go away. It's not me. It's just . . . there." She trailed off into silence, distracted as her eyes went down to his hands on her wrists, skin to skin. The fire was soothed there, moving away, up her arms, coiling in her chest.

Her hair was pushed back over her shoulder and it fell down her back toward the right. She blinked, pulling her eyes up away from his touch, and found him frowning at something beyond her. Before she could turn, she felt Damon behind her, his hand gliding over her lower back. Stefan's grip on her wrists flexed unconsciously, almost bruising, and she turned in it to mirror his grasp, holding onto him.

She could use this. As her fingers dug into his arms, she realized what it was doing to her. She could use this as a tether. At the thought, she doubled over again, the energy jerking brutally at her. She gritted her teeth and fixed her eyes on a point in the floor, concentrating on ignoring the relentless verve.

Stefan's grip tightened again just as she felt Damon's lips brush over the exposed curve of her shoulder. Startled, she jolted, sucking in frigid air.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, pulling in tenser on herself. But then another wave went through her and she had to ride through a spasm. Damon's arm snaked around her waist from behind, holding her tight.

"Damon," Stefan warned, his eyes going right over her and onto his brother.

Damon's mouth had moved to the nape of her neck before his touch disappeared. "It's what she wants," he told Stefan, and even through her distraction, Elena could hear the smirk in his voice. "You know it and I know it," he said slowly. She felt the line of his jaw smooth evanescently over the curve of her neck before his hands were on her, slipping up underneath her blouse and running over the over-sensitized flesh of her torso.

Elena's mouth fell open as she arched, brow furrowing. She was concentrated on herself, the swirling static in her and how it was reacting. Stunning, she felt. The fire was receding. _Yes, yes, yes_. This was what she needed. More touching. She needed them to touch her.

She released Stefan's hands, dropping her arms to furl her fingers in the thick material of Damon's jacket behind her as she pivoted back onto her knees and pressed herself into Stefan. He stiffened, but before he could pull away, she stretched and crashed her mouth up onto his in a breathless, urgent kiss.

She exhilarated at the fervor that rose in her. Something familiar was tightening low in her stomach, bringing along a soft throbbing in her outer core. As the carnal craving sparked to life inside of her, it started to smother the painful coiling of fire.

She kissed him harder, daring to let go of Damon to bring her hands up to Stefan's face, sliding around to grip the back of his neck and twist her fingers into his soft hair. His hand curved over her arm, a touch somewhere in between pulling her to him and holding her back. She felt Damon press himself to her, molding their bodies, and a slight tremor ran through her. The frissons sparking through her were almost debilitating, distracting at least. She needed more, so badly she had to restrain the franticness threatening to rise in her.

And then it all almost came down on her head as Stefan jerked himself away from her, turning his face to the side and breaking their kiss. Her hands tightened in the fabric of his shirt and held him with her as he tried to pull away, shaking his head.

"No," he said, clearing his throat against the hoarseness of his voice. Damon chuckled, his mouth moving against the side of her throat, and the vibrations echoed through her. Stefan struggled to resolve, but the thirst had overtaken his eyes and the desire was gripping him too tightly to breathe. "No," he said again, stronger this time. "It's not right. She's—"

"She's a big girl," Damon cut in. "She knows what she's doing."

"_She's_ right here," Elena snapped at them, fisting her fingers angrily, one against Stefan's abdomen and the other against Damon's leg. She sighed, letting her body release itself from the taut binding she'd been holding it in to keep the fire at bay. She leaned up, cupping Stefan's chin, turning him back to her, and kissed him again. She relayed her insistence with her mouth, pouring it into him, while she leaned back into Damon, letting him take her weight.

"Elena," Stefan muttered against her lips, trying halfheartedly to reach her.

She left her lips there to linger on him after the kiss had ended, and slowly, she tilted her head back, eyes going to look up at the ceiling as she took in the steadiest breath she'd managed to capture since the storm had left.

"It-It's better," she told them, whispering softly. "Not gone, just . . . different," she breathed out, letting her head fall back against Damon's shoulder.

Her eyes rolled back down to find Stefan staring at her, turmoil etched over his features. The longer she met his gaze, the more the blood in his eyes receded. Damon had his arms around her middle and she had hers resting over his as his fingers drew lazy patterns into her skin from where her shirt had ridden up. She remained steady, miraculously, controlling the rising ardor threatening to buckle her. And finally, Stefan broke their stare, slanting down over her to crush his mouth down onto hers. A second later, he broke away, trailing his mouth down over her jaw and along the hollow of her throat.

Her heart raced and her breathing got heavier, more erratic, as they wrapped themselves around her, surrounding her, filling her, chasing away the struggle and the conflict, and making the outside world blur until the only thing she was aware of was them.

The full moon still shone down. The air was still thick with something draining and foreboding that had set her teeth on edge before. And that distant howling still filled her ears. But, for the moment, none of it mattered as much as the urgent pressure building inside of her at their hot and cold touches.


	11. Morning After Dark

**Entry 11: Morning After Dark**

It was barely dawn when Stefan was startled out of sleep by the sudden absence of Elena's breath. The smooth pattern had ingrained itself into his awareness and when it suddenly stopped, he was pulled immediately into consciousness.

Opening his eyes, Stefan found her lying beside him as she'd been all night. Panic shot through him. _She wasn't breathing_. But he soothed a second later when the beat of her heart filled his ears, racing. It was just a nightmare. Her breath had hitched in her throat. It wasn't uncommon, but it meant that something akin to true terror was gripping her tightly in its hold and that unsettled him.

He lifted his head, moving evanescently to avoid disturbance, and stilled a second later when he found Damon lying on the other side of her, staring down at her face. Her fingers, twined with Stefan's, squeezed suddenly as her heart leapt again. Ignoring the nausea that dizzied him, Stefan waited—frozen, listening—until finally, she drew in a shuddery breath and her heart began to calm.

He held onto her hand tighter, putting his head back down on the pillow against her waves of hair that splayed out behind her, and let the pulsing warmth flow from her and into him, soothing the sickness that was trying to ripple through him. How they'd gotten to this point, he couldn't understand. Or maybe he could, and that's what made it so upsetting.

He wanted to get himself out of this mess. But he didn't know how. He couldn't imagine giving her up. He couldn't just walk away. But he was afraid, terrified actually, of asking Elena to choose. She loved him, he knew. But he was sure, whether she'd accepted it or not, that she had at some point truly fallen for his brother. What was worse was that he wasn't completely sure he could blame Damon. He wanted to believe that Damon had tricked her, seduced her, that she was just victim to his twisted games. Like they all were. But he didn't really believe it. He hated that. But he just didn't believe it.

He knew he couldn't do this, though—whatever _this_ was. And maybe he should just leave. But just thinking about one whiff of her honeysuckle-scented hair, one note of her honey-tempered voice, one look into her fervid hazelnut eyes, and he knew he couldn't. Not yet.

"I wonder what it is."

Stefan's eyes snapped open at the sound of his brother's clouded voice. He turned his head to the side, a crease forming in his brow, and looked over to find Damon still staring, watching turmoil and reaction play over her features.

Something unnerving settled in his gut.

"What what is?" he asked, knowing he didn't want to know but not able to help himself.

She shifted, a sliver of motion reacting to their voices, but the way her eyes danced below their lids still so erratically said she was too deep for it to do anything more. Damon never took his eyes off of her, never looked up, and the intensity of that stirred the sickness in Stefan. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, forcing himself frozen as he waited.

"What's got her so worked up," Damon answered. "What's she dreaming about?" His eyes rolled down to the locket resting over her heart and Stefan's stomach clenched. If he took the vervain away, he could go in, he could see into her mind, satisfy his every curiosity. Stefan couldn't, not unless he fed on human blood. He relaxed a bit when Damon's gaze went back up to her face. Whatever reason he had for refraining, Stefan was grateful.

Still, even closing his eyes, darkening the light, lying back and concentrating only on her—on her breathing, her scent, her heartbeat, her quickening and calming pulse, her warmth, her soft flesh and smooth curves—he couldn't block out the image of the way his brother looked at her. It was worse than anything else—that look—because it said so many things. Things Stefan didn't want to hear . . . didn't want to accept.

Only what else was he supposed to do? This was Elena. All he'd wanted since the moment he returned to Mystic Falls was for Elena to be safe and happy. She'd had so much sadness in her eyes when they'd met. Even before that, those months he'd spent lurking in shadows at the edges of her world, observing her. She was utterly heartbreaking and so very enticing.

It was that sadness that initially drew him in, that and her strength. It was her intense protectiveness towards her loved ones. It was her compassion and concern. But mostly, it was the sadness inside of her and the way she tried to hide it, wanting so badly to avoid sympathy and worry.

Then he'd finally gotten to meet her, introduce himself and touch her hand, look into her eyes and see her looking back at him, curious and kind. And slowly but surely, over time, that sadness had ebbed. Not entirely, but significantly. And now, he couldn't imagine bringing even a sliver of that sadness back. He'd do anything to keep that from happening. _Anything_ . . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jenna downed her latest cup of coffee with a grim expression pulling her face taut.

This was her . . . she'd lost count at some point during the sleepless night. She turned, set the mug onto the counter as quietly as she could, and started what would be her fourth pot brewing. Then, as the bitter caffeine percolated in the coffeepot, Jenna turned and slipped back onto the barstool situated at the island counter.

She was reading by the dim light of dawn that peeked through the kitchen windows in bluish rays of sunrise. She'd just come down with the diary a few minutes ago. Before that, she'd been camped out in her bedroom by the reading lamp.

Bonnie and Jeremy were still passed out on the living room sofa, him snoring and her kicking, exactly as they'd been all night. She'd been swallowing down the urge to wake them for the last six hours now. Somebody had some serious explaining to do. Only thing was: she wasn't really sure just who that somebody was yet.

She definitely had a few questions for Elena, she knew. But her niece had yet to come home from 'Bonnie's.' So that would have to wait. But one of them, Bonnie or Jeremy, had been reading this diary, which was how she'd found it. So, one of them had a lot to answer to. But . . . how was she supposed to broach this subject? She was astounded that she was actually able to wrap her head around it. But that was about as far as she'd gotten.

No, though, this was sensitive. She wasn't quite sure what to think of all of this. She just knew that something big was going on and everyone around her seemed to be keeping secrets and it all seemed to connect somehow. She just wanted to know what was going on. She needed someone to make it clear for her.

Really, there was only one person she felt comfortable coming to with this: Alaric.

They were supposed to have breakfast this morning—in only a few hours, actually. She'd talk to him about it first and then she'd decide how to discuss it with Jeremy and Elena—together, as a family, all at once. No more secretive talks and meetings. This needed to be brought out in the open between them, no matter what. She couldn't have them lying to her. She just couldn't. Miranda wouldn't have stood for this, so neither could Jenna.

Question was, though: did she bring the diary with her to see Alaric? Or should she leave it where she found it to not arouse any suspicion just yet?

Jenna sighed, plopping her chin in her hand and propping her elbow on the countertop as she leaned back over the old book and flipped it back open to where she'd left off, wondering when her life had gotten so freaking complicated.

_Entry Forty-Two: November The Thirteen, 1864_

_The harshness of winter has arrived and it has kept me cruelly confined within the Salvatore house with no air of respite. How I miss the warm days of spring. _

_This horridness could not have come at a worse time, either. Giuseppe has been growing more suspicious with each passing day and as of late, it has blossomed into a dangerous obsession._

_Pearl is afraid. Her insistence has become bothersome and is spoiling my time with the Salvatore sons. I do not know what to do with her. Before now, calming her worries was an annoyance but simple enough with appropriate persistence. Only now she has become impossible and this has spurred her daughter Anna's scornful demeanor toward me, as if I am to blame suddenly for every hardship we have suffered through the last years. I've always found Anna to be a priggish little nuisance, but now she has become an actual threat. She has been whispering in her mother's ear and is slowly but surely quite skillfully turning Pearl against me._

_If I lose Pearl's loyalty, I just may suffer from Isobel and Isadora as well. Noah is all ready enraged that I have taken up with Stefan and Damon, for he knows my pattern of turning my playthings in case I ever wish to return to them in the future, and he cannot stand the idea of Stefan or Damon joining our kind. He believes they are his competition. I have tried to make it clear to him that even without them, he would not interest me, but, alas, it does no good. Noah is a stubborn mule, he always has been and always will be. There is nothing I can do to change that. But enduring him has become unbearable as of late._

_I worry our family is beginning to come apart at the seams. This I cannot allow. I spent my first years as a vampire alone, independent and rogue. Yes, there are certain advantages to having only oneself to keep in mind for, but I have come to rely on possessing a network of support at my disposable and I cannot bear to go back. To find a new coven would be just as undesirable. Unbending trust and loyalty do not come easily, nor does finding ones compatible._

_I must tread carefully from now on in order to avoid any turmoil within the coven. Up to this point, I am afraid I have been too preoccupied with my new conquests and have not paid enough mind to the voices around me. It would not do to have my family turn against me, especially now, when the humans of Mystic Falls are gathering and plotting their defenses against the nightwalkers they know so little of. Alas, they know enough to cause damage and that is all they need._

_When first fleeing from the Atlanta Campaign and gathering to decide upon where to reside, I was positive returning to my hometown in Virginia had been a marvelous idea. Of course, it had entailed a lot of effort and preparation. Before our arrival, I had had to instruct Noah to visit a select few of locals and alter their memories of me. It would not do to have Jonathon Gilbert remember it was I who bore his brother's child that he now raises as his own daughter with the timid Astrid. _

_Before I took my leave of this place originally, I took good use of my newly acquired abilities and compelled the more damning of evidence right out of this town's memory, of course. But there were a few remaining loose ends I had neglected to tie up before my exit. Though both my name and face are unrecognizable under the spell of their thoughts._

_Now, how inconvenient this would have been had I not had Noah at my disposal. There, you see dear journal? There is another very important reason to hold this family of mine together._

_I digress._

_For some reason, though, that I will never quite understand, there were a few facts I left untouched. For example, the knowledge that poor childless Astrid is still very much childless and the beautiful daughter she adores has no part of her or her husband, Jonathon. Though, I believe my motives for that forgetfulness are not quite so mysterious. Petty, yes, but I very much enjoyed the thought of them remembering the pivotal part I play in their lives, all of these years that have passed, and still, will always, continue to play._

_I do not know the girl's name nor do I wish to discover it. I must avoid any sort of attachment to the little creature. She was a product of the human, Katherine Pierce, not the vampire._

_You should feel significantly special, dear journal. For only Pearl knows of the child's existence, and now you, it is an exclusive right of my closest confidante. Now that I am carrying doubts concerning Pearl's devotion, I must rely on you, dear journal. You are the only place I may go now to spill my heart and thoughts. You hold my secrets. You will, undoubtedly, keep them for eternity. Until you perish. Or I perish, Lord forbid._

_I have never put much stock in faith of any kind. Though as of late, I am beginning to wonder. It must be the Salvatores and their influence. I have been having some wretched thoughts these days and the roiling in the pit of my stomach is unbearable. I find myself feeling unsatisfied and restless, once again. I only hope Stefan and Damon are ready when it is time to take our leave. _

_We have, after all, overstayed our welcome longer than intended and I have no idea how much longer I may contend to hold my coven in place here, amongst these dreadful men as they make their machinations against us._

_Alas, if my family does betray me, at least I will have my devoted boys alongside me until I can reform a sturdier coven. Though, I am concerned over the rift between the brothers. There is so much animosity within their relationship. Yes, most is due to my presence, but it stems from a tension that existed long before my appearance. I only wish they would put aside whatever grudging ill will they carry toward one another and retrieve a bit of that bond I know was there at one point in time. I know, because I can see pieces of it still lingering._

_I can only insist that in time, they will overcome their differences. I will make sure of that._

_The foreign emotion that has been nagging at my insides as of late has been distinguished as foreboding. Whatever is to come, I must not concern myself with it in the here and now. That is how eternity is ruined._

_I must set you aside for now, dear journal, for I am cooped up within a stale house in the dead of winter with two very enticing chambers on either side of mine, with two very enticing specimens awaiting my arrival. _

_Hmm, however will I choose?_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Caroline was aware of was that she felt like crap.

She was sore and achy and sticky and she could practically feel the grime that she was absolutely sure clung to every inch of her skin, when really, it only clung to her soul.

The room was still, the rest of the house was quiet. Her mother must not be up yet. Either that or it was a blue moon last night and Elizabeth Forbes finally got lucky and didn't come home. Caroline let out a little laugh at the thought, then grimaced and buried her face in the pillow. It stunk of rose and lavender so sickly sweet that she had to stifle her gag reflex.

As the sleep faded from her head, reality set in and a sickening weight sunk into her stomach. Bunching her knuckles in the bedding, Caroline pushed herself upright, groaning at the nicks panging through her body. She was cold. She felt . . . used up.

The light streaming through her open blinds was still tinged with coral and aquamarine tints from sunrise and felt too bright. It was like it shouldn't be so clear and warm looking when she felt so dank and shuttered. The harsh light of day bit into her skin, prickling it, and she wanted to hide—close her eyes and will the morning away.

But she didn't do that because her eyes raked around her and the stained sheets she was wrapped in made her stomach clench. As her face crumpled into misery, Caroline scrambled out of bed and flung herself into the adjoining bathroom, falling onto her knees on the cold tile and retching. The contents of her stomach poured into the toilet.

Still shaking, Caroline pulled herself up from the floor and flushed, slamming the lid of the toilet seat down and sinking onto it. She wiped her mouth then left her hand there, muffling her whining as she reached over with her other hand and switched on the showerhead beside her, pulling the curtain closed. When steam began filling the room, she came tentatively to her feet and stepped into the shower, gripping the curtain as if it was her lifeline.

Under the scalding barrage of water, Caroline let her palms fall against the slick tile in front of her as her body sagged, boneless and trembling. Her knees buckled, threatening to give out on her as her body was wracked with shuddery sobs. She felt like her lungs had been turned inside out. Her soaked hair fell around her in golden ropes that stuck to her face and shoulders as she quivered under the hot spray, hanging her head.

"Why did I let him do that to me?" she whispered, water trailing into her mouth as she cried. "How could I have wanted that?" Her fingertips pressed into the cold tile, letting it bite into her sensitized skin. "What have I done?"

This was a familiar feeling, one she'd promised herself she'd never feel again when she'd sworn off Damon Salvatore for good. It was the same dirty, used up feeling that twisted her up every time she had been with Damon. And though she wasn't entirely sure why it had always been so intensely traumatizing, it was and it affected her. It was the same with this man . . . Nicholas. Why had she let him inside? Why had she let him . . . why did she do that?

Caroline's eyes opened as she choked and sniveled, head still hanging, and her bleary gaze got caught on something. Her hands slipped down the shower wall and came to her thigh, cradling it as she bent at the waist and peered at the harsh markings over several different spots on her inner thigh. Touching the areas, she hissed in pain and pulled her hand away.

Bite marks.

"_Why_?" she whispered, swiping angrily at her nose and turning her head up to let the hot spray of water blast her in the face.

She hated this feeling . . . this brokenness . . . _hated it_.

Maybe an hour passed before she found herself sitting on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a fluffy robe that soothed her skin and kept her swaddled in warmth. Her hair was still wet tendrils that fell limply around her and she couldn't muster the energy to get the hairdryer out from under the bathroom sink.

She had to go to school. She felt like she was late, but she still had an hour, she realized as she caught sight of the clock at her bedside. She moved to her feet, headed for the closet, when she remembered that yesterday was Friday, which meant it was Saturday.

She was sinking back down onto her bed when the doorbell rang. She trudged downstairs with a heavy sigh and made it to the door. Mom still hadn't made an appearance, so she must've done an all-nighter at the station.

Caroline hesitated in the foyer, hand hovering over the doorknob as her breath hitched. She leaned forward bravely, checking through the peephole. When she saw a flash of honey-colored hair, Caroline's heart leapt. Anxiety gripped her.

Beyond that, she swallowed past the lump in her throat and reached up with shaky hands to unlock the deadbolt and security chain. Then she swung it open and froze. "Matt," she exclaimed in a shaky breath, cringing at the tremor in her voice.

He spun on her and the agitation etched across his face clouded into concern at the sight of her. Frowning, he stepped over the threshold and through the doorway, bringing himself nearly right up against her.

"Caroline," he said softly, "what's wrong?"

She sniffled, shaking her head carefully from side to side, and swiped at her cheek, trying to hide behind her wet hair. She opened her mouth, wanting so badly to say something, but nothing came out. His hands landed on her shoulders, gentle but insistent, and she collapsed against him in a heap of strangled sobs.

"Shh," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her and nudging the door closed with his foot. "It's okay. It's alright. Shh." His hands rubbed soft circles over her back as she clung to him. And as good as it felt to be held by him, it only made the twisting knots in her stomach even worse. She couldn't take this. She didn't even understand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elena's eyes snapped open, mouth parted in a silent scream as it died off in her throat.

Her chest constricted and for a terrifying moment, she couldn't breathe. Images rushed through her head, dark shadows blurring, fading away, until the only thing she was aware of was waking up from a nightmare she couldn't remember and the lingering feelings that were suffocating her. She found herself in bed—the only thing hugging her body beneath the sheets was an overlarge T-shirt she didn't remember putting on.

Feeling claustrophobic, she moved upright, pulling her hand out of Stefan's and untangling her legs from Damon. She hesitated there and glanced over her shoulder at them there, eyes closed, laying almost lifelessly still, the both of them. She'd been sleeping between them, lying curled on her side, Stefan pressed into her back with her head buried in Damon's shoulder. When neither moved, she turned and looked around her.

She was in the master suite of the Salvatore boarding house. The sun was streaming through the dark-paned oriel windows, casting over them all.

It was daylight? How did that happen?

Her skin tingled. Her heart clenched. Her lungs still squeezed uncomfortably. The remnants of her nightmare still clung to her. She burrowed her knuckles in the mattress and struggled to breathe. As she did so, the heavy fog over her mind cleared and she recollected herself. The wild pump of her heart stuttered before finally smoothing out.

Still, she couldn't stop herself from flinging fluidly onto her feet and down the center of the bed to land silently on the floor before she crossed the room toward the balcony. She needed fresh air. She needed the light.

Then, as she reached for the door's handle, Elena hesitated, shifting to look behind her at the bed she'd vacated, and her throat tightened. Both Stefan and Damon, she'd been in that bed with both of them, between them, and she wasn't wearing any clothes. The only thing she was wearing wasn't even hers. This just didn't make sense. Why would . . .

_I didn't! Did I? I couldn't have_, she thought. But, obviously, she had. What the hell had she been thinking? Letting things get so out of hand last night—apparently. Her brain was sort of foggy. She couldn't quite play out the evening in her mind congruently. But it was clear right now, even through her substantial confusion, just what she'd done. What they'd all done.

_Well, this is just freaking perfect._ What kind of mess had she made now? And why the hell couldn't she remember what happened last night? The memory was there when she looked for it. It was just . . . _hazy_.

Frowning, Elena's hands came up and she touched herself, gingerly, experimentally, and ducked her head, chewing on her lip and sniffing at the strong layer of cinnamon that her olfactory senses told her clung to the shirt she was wearing. Feeling off-kilter, she stepped away from the balcony door and wandered toward the armoire, only to open it up to expose the full-length mirror that was hung on the inside of the door.

Her breath caught in her chest at the first sight of herself. She was barely recognizable. Her eyes were too bright. Her face was too dark. Her lips were too red. There was something there, some spark that she couldn't decipher, but it scared her. This feeling, like she'd spun, spun, spun in circles and made the world topsy-turvy, and then when it cleared, everything was different, strange, foreign.

Her eyes shifted to the bed reflecting in the mirror as movement caught her attention. The boys had given up on the pretense of slumber. Like she hadn't known they'd been faking, _hah_. She wasn't a moron, despite what the strange hammering behind her eyelids suggested. It felt like a hangover, most definitely, she'd recognize it anywhere. But she hadn't drunk last night—nothing, nada, Swear to God. Not that that helped her any.

She couldn't quite believe it. She didn't know what got into her . . . into _them_. She was _just barely_ coming to terms with the fact that she had feelings for both Stefan and Damon. The intensity of said feelings would take a long while to adjust to, she knew.

But this—no way was she anywhere near able to take in the idea of being with them both, in that way, never mind accepting the fact that apparently, in her haze, she'd slept with them both. _At once. Together. As in, the three of them._ She'd heard Damon's offhanded jokes of the ménage à trois thing they seemed to have going lately, but they were just that, _offhanded_. She never gave it serious or even moderate consideration. She wasn't that kind of girl. To do that with two men—she just wasn't like that. Besides, she'd promised Aunt Jenna that this wouldn't happen. And now she couldn't even bear to imagine the awkward mess she'd made.

_What to do, what to do?_

Embarrassment colored her cheeks but it was drowned out by the reddened tint of heat that plagued her. She brought the back of her hand up to her cheek and let out a sharp breath. The coolness of her hand stung against the burn of her face. Why was she running so hot?

Staring at herself and steadfastly ignoring all goings-on in her peripheral vision, Elena watched tears blossom in her eyes and track slowly down her cheeks, glistening in the morning light against the glass. She pressed her mouth into a firm line and tried to hold it back. Crying was a useless habit and she hated it.

"Elena," Stefan called softly, snapping her back to reality.

With a sharp intake of breath, she ducked her head and hurried to swipe away the evidence of weakness. He appeared at her side, clad in a loose pair of dark slacks that hung low on his hips and a white undershirt. It made her glance down at herself, self-consciously. She reached up to shut the mirror away when his hand landed over hers, stilling her. Locking her jaw, she turned to find him standing beside her.

"Are you alright?"

"Me?" she muttered, "Peachy." Then she slipped away from his touch and turned away from her reflection, brushing her hair back as she moved toward her burgundy blouse that caught her eye hanging off the back of the chair by the desk in the corner. She paused there for a minute, on her toes, and glanced around, searching for the rest of her clothing.

"Looking for this?" She spun to find Damon leaning against one of the tall dressers, her lace bra dangling from one of his fingertips. He smirked.

She rolled her eyes, biting down on the humiliation scorching through her, and moved to snatch it away from him. "Great," she huffed under her breath, moving away from him in search of her bottoms, all while avoiding two sets of gazes that followed her.

"Elena," Stefan called again, quiet and imploring.

Gnawing on the corner of her mouth, she stopped, reluctantly spun to face him, and tilted her head with expectance.

"_Honestly_, are you okay?" he insisted.

"Of course she's not okay," Damon drawled. "She's freaking out and trying oh-so desperately to hide it."

She shot him a short glower and a "Shut up," before turning away from them both.

Stefan turned his eyes on his brother and narrowed them. "Why don't you get lost, Damon?"

"Why don't you?" he retorted archly, quirking a brow and flashing a crooked smirk.

"Why don't you both?" she chimed in irritably, on her hands and knees as she peeked under the bed in search of her underwear. When she straightened, empty-handed, she found them both watching her, two drastically contrasting expressions. "Sorry," she grumbled, tucking unruly hair behind her ear and licking her lips, eyes downcast. "And I'm not freaking out, okay. I'm just—" she paused, searching for the right word and folding her arms defensively, "—scared, I guess."

Stefan's aggravation immediately evaporated while Damon made an unimpressed face and rolled his eyes at her. Stefan shot him a dirty look before turning solely to her, futilely attempting to block his brother's presence out as he stepped toward her. "It's going to be alright," he promised, coming up beside her as she looked out the window, arms still stiffly crossed and shoulders rigid. "You're not alone, Elena."

"Yeah," Damon quipped, mostly only to irritate his brother, "what he said."

Stefan clenched his jaw, but drew a careful hand to her shoulder, the cool flesh of his palm gliding over the fiery patch of exposed skin, where the stretched-out neckline of the shirt sagged off the curve of her. His brow furrowed and his eyes darted down to his hand, peering curiously at their skin to skin contact.

She felt him tense and turned away from the window, frowning at him. "What?"

"Uh," he murmured distractedly then looked up at her eyes and shook his head, trying and almost succeeding in adopting a reassuring mien, "nothing."

Elena sidestepped his touch and glanced down at her shoulder, comprehension flickering a second later. "Oh, yeah, I know. I'm like running a hundred-ten degree fever. One of the many freaky side effects of this"—she flailed her arms in the air once with disdain—"thing."

"Burning-hot," Damon quipped. "There're worse things you could be."

"Yeah?" she challenged. "Tell that to my damaged brain cells."

"I don't think it works that way," Stefan cut in reassuringly. "Your body temp is obviously due to the transition. It's only logical to assume that it won't affect you like it would if you were still—" She turned her steady stare on him and he cut himself off just in time. She was . . . touchy about the whole _human_ subject.

"Whatever," she sighed, running a hand through her hair again and moving to sink down to perch on the foot of the bed, legs pressed almost painfully together as she tugged at the hemline of the T-shirt. "I just can't wait for this to be over."

Damon's brow shot up as his mouth opened—about to point out just how many ways her situation would never be over—when Stefan shot him a hard look. Damon paused—weighing his options—then held up his hands and shook his head in the universal _I give_ gesture, before moving to the dresser to grab one of his button-downs and a pair of slacks. This was not one of those times where hanging around in his boxers was the best strategy. Funnily enough.

He chose to turn his back on them when Stefan sunk down to sit beside her on the bed. While Elena made no move to pull her head out of her hands, her body did tense to alert. He laid his hand on her leg, tentatively, and watched for her reaction. She slowly turned her face toward him and waited.

"You have nothing to be afraid of," he promised. "We'll be right here with you the whole time." He drew her hand into his and twined their fingers.

Elena's eyes instantly fell to their conjoined hands and her brow furrowed. She didn't want to be alone. But this couldn't be. She was going crazy as a maelstrom of frenzy raged inside of her and she didn't know which direction was up. Something in her knotted and twisted, urging her actions.

"No," she finally said, pulling her hand from his and shaking her head. She rose to her feet and stepped back. "No, you can't." At this, Damon shifted, turning to look over his shoulder at her in curiosity, brow furrowed.

Stefan frowned but kept himself from following her. If she was distancing them that was obviously what she wanted. But he didn't understand her line of thinking. "You don't have to go through this by yourself," he told her slowly, confused.

"Yes, I do," she insisted firmly, turning her body from him as one of her hands reached up to wrap around the majority of her hair and pull it away from the nape of her neck and over one shoulder. Her eyes were moving around the room again, scanning, searching.

"Elena—"

Noise blared into her ears. She gasped, flinging her hands up to tangle in the hair hanging in her face and pressing her cool palm to the overheated skin of her forehead as she covered her ear with the other. She clamped her mouth closed, leaning wobbly against the wall, and drew in a steadying breath, blinking oddly.

"'_Let's kill the night and go down in style. Feel the magic rise. We're plotting our demise. Of perspiration and alcohol as I introduce the bedroom brawl.'"_

_My ringtone_, she realized grumpily. Most definitely, but why the hell was it so loud? Her ears were practically bleeding. Her hands lowered, skimming over her ears with a pained grimace as she moved to the center of the room and cast a harried glance around her, trying to determine just where the noise was coming from.

Stefan and Damon watched her with peculiar expressions.

She spotted her pants lying crumpled on the floor by the bookcase and confirmed them as the source of the noise. After padding across the room and fumbling to her knees, Elena grabbed her dark-washed jeans and scrounged blindly into the back pocket until she had her hand wrapped around her cell phone. She flipped it open and jammed her thumb down on the pickup button without bothering to check the id. Anything to get that insufferable beat to stop ringing in her ears.

"Yes?" she rasped, twirling around as she rose to her feet, cradling the cell against her ear with one hand and using the other to brush her hair away from her face. The chocolate tangles fell messily over her shoulders and back, infuriatingly disobedient. Her eyes landed on Stefan as he tried to act like he wasn't staring at her with that familiar crease in his brow as he sat at the edge of the bed. Damon was perched on the front of the desk, pulling a dark button-down over his pallid chest.

An unnerving electric shock skittered up her spine and spread out through her system.

"Gilbert?" a familiar voice echoed in her ear and the skittering of shocks turned into a sickening knot twisting through her. She reached out, using the shelf of the bookcase to keep her steady as a wave of weakness went through her knees. "Uh, hey, Elena, it's Tyler."

She turned her body away from the boys and their penetrating eyes. "Lockwood?" she muttered skeptically. "Tyler Lockwood? How did you get my number?"

"I really need to talk to you, Gilbert."

Elena let out a low breath, pacing the length of the room with a tilted head and a confused frown. Eyes burned into her back, keeping her shoulders stiff. "What's this about?"

"Look," he huffed, "I know it's early, but this can't wait. Mind meeting me?"

"Right now?"

"Soon as possible," he begged, only a slight twinge of irritation in his tone.

Something unsettling was wrapping itself around her. Tyler Lockwood was a bully, a druggie, a jerk. Basically, he was an all around jackass. She'd been going to school with him since third grade and never once had she thought of him with any interest other than vague disdain—mostly because he'd been picking on her baby brother since pre-pubescence and you just don't do that without permanently pissing her off.

And beyond all of that—which, okay, was beside the actual point—other than the occasional hormonal-teenage-boy glance, he'd not once given her any sort of time of day. Not that that had ever bothered her. But it all came back to this moment right here and the question that was running through her still-buzzing head.

_What the hell is Tyler Lockwood doing calling me, asking to meet me no less?_

_I repeat—What the Hell?_

She came to a stop in front of the balcony door and looked out into the bright daylight, one leg curving to smooth up and down the back of her other calf. The woods rimming the Salvatore land were especially vibrant. One of the small aves flitting around came and perched on the wrought-iron rail of the balcony. She stared absently at the rich coloring of it.

"Gilbert?" he huffed again, "you still there?"

Elena pursed her lips, clearing her scratchy throat. "Yeah, I'm . . . here."

"Well? You gonna come or not?"

She glanced over her shoulder to find Damon and Stefan still watching her. "Today's not really a good day." She skimmed her free hand along her brow and heaved a small sigh. "If something's wrong, just tell me now."

Tyler gave a strangled sound of frustration from the other end of the line that had her spine stiffening with irritation. "Look," he huffed again, "it's not really like that. I need to see you. Would you just come—stop by the Grill, _please_?"

"I—" Elena paused, turned away from Stefan's disapproving attention and Damon's mildly disinterested leaning, giving them both her back, and then sucked in a reluctant breath. "Give me an hour."

"How about a half?" he drawled. "I'm already here. Don't got all day to—"

"Y'know," she cut in, cocking her head, "Make that two hours."

"_Gil_—" She snapped the phone closed with an irritated huff before he could finish.

"_Perpetual Jackass_," she murmured to herself, squeezing her fist around her cell as she twirled on her heel to face the room.

"You're actually going to meet him?"

"I said I was, didn't I?" she replied evenly.

Carefully avoiding either man's stare, she returned to her jeans and, after tossing her cell onto the bed by her blouse and bra, started tugging them on. She bounced from one foot to the other and quickly got the jeans up over her hips and fastened, tugging the long T-shirt free after it got caught inside them.

She tried to think of what reasons Tyler could possibly have but came up empty. It could be anything. She snatched up her bra and twirled, giving them her back, and before she could blush, tugged the T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. As she slipped the bra straps up her shoulders and struggled to clasp it around her back, Stefan averted his eyes for the sake of her majorly still existent modesty while Damon leered appreciatively—again, mostly only to get a rise out of Stefan. She was hurrying to pull her blouse over her head and into place when the silence was broken.

"Do you have any idea how volatile you are today?" Damon wondered in an idle tone. "It's not exactly a _smart_ move, subjecting a concentrated group of humans to you in a confined space."

"I'll sit out on the patio," she sniped, making a face at him over her shoulder before righting her blouse around her waist and spinning. "Anyway, that's not your problem," she paused to glance meaningfully at Stefan, "either of yours. I can take care of myself."

"Sure you can," Damon drawled, holding back an amused scoff.

"Well," she snapped, spine stiffening, "I better figure it out quick, then, huh?"

"What an idea—"

Stefan came to his feet, holding his hands up to quiet them. "Alright, enough," he chided, and then soberly focused on Elena. "Bonnie is still looking for an answer. No one has given up on stopping this." _Like you wanted_, goes unsaid. But it hangs in his tone. "We'll find a way—"

"Yeah, and if we don't?" she snapped, angrily flipping her hair with a snap of her head as she went onto her knees again, grabbing at her boots, which were strewn separately near the doorway to the room.

"Then you'll get used to being a werewolf," Damon added, then smirked. "Look how much fun it's been so far." The shoe in her hand was flying across the room, aimed at his head, before she realized it. He dodged it easily, chuckling as it smashed into the reading lamp on the desk and both items crashed to the floor. "Case in point."

Stefan gave a quiet sigh and scratched the back of his head, ruffling his hair. "We're going to have a lot of repairs next month." Between Elena, Damon's scuffle with Nicholas, and Damon and Stefan's repeated frays, there was a lot of damage around the boarding house. _It's times like these when being a sufficiently skilled carpenter comes in handy_, he thought wryly.

Looking reproached, she cut a look at Stefan and mumbled, "Sorry."

"What're you apologizing to him for?" Damon laughed. "It was _me_ you assailed with a leather knockoff."

She narrowed her eyes at him, rising to her feet, still clutching the remaining shoe. "And it missed," she retorted, "_regrettably_."

He held up his hands. "Hey, not my fault you throw like a girl."

"I do not!"

"Oh, no, you do."

She brought her arm up, shoe in hand, and started—but Stefan caught her by the wrist before she could pitch the heel. She let him take the makeshift weapon away from her with a resigned sigh. Just as she began to soothe, Damon's throaty chuckling made the fire flare again but before she could launch herself at him, Stefan stepped in.

"Damon," he warned in a dangerously low tone. His brother's gaze jumped to him and he grinned, propping back on the desk with a jovial expression.

Elena slipped past them both, ducking down behind the desk to retrieve her second shoe, shooting dirty glances at Damon. Then she made her way to the bed to plop down and tug on her boots, huffing and hurried.

Silence fell over the room while she did this, as the brothers seemed to have struck up another one of their wordless-communication stare-downs she detested so much.

Then she rose to her feet and started for the door, disrupting them. "I have to go."

"Now's not really a good time to go running off," Stefan called after her.

Elena spun, hesitating in the hallway outside the room. "I know that." Her hands came up to clutch the doorframe lightly as she shifted her weight. "I just need to be alone for awhile. I'll be back before sunset. Promise," she chirped, then twirled weightlessly and hurried down the stairs, trying to escape without anymore arguments ensuing.

The brothers remained unmoving until the sound of the front door slamming echoed through the house.

"Okay," Damon piped up, voice somehow both upbeat and sardonic, "so, how weird was that?"

Stefan let out a shuddering breath and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants, turning toward his brother. "I can't believe I let that happen." Damon let out a pained groan as he watched Stefan's somber _woe-is-me_ expression fall into place. "Elena has enough to go through without us taking advantage of her."

A deep howl of laughter escaped Damon before he could stop it, not that he would've. Grazing a hand down his face as he slipped from the desktop and onto his feet, he found Stefan's hard gaze and shook his head. "Dear brother," he hummed, sauntering toward him, "if _anyone_ was taken advantage of last night, it was us." He stopped at Stefan's side and cocked his head.

"You know full well she wasn't in control of her actions last night. It was up to us to make sure she didn't do something she'd regret."

Damon's smirk was uncharacteristically more mirthful than mocking as he started to brush past his brother. On his way out, he mused, "Ever consider you underestimate her? Or _over_estimate, depending on how you look at it."

Stefan sunk to the foot of the bed once Damon was gone, lowering his head into his hands with a groan. _What a mess._


	12. The Calm

**Entry 12: The Calm**

It was a bright and sunny day. The sky that stretched above her head was the clearest and truest blue she'd seen since the start of winter. The birds chirped and sang excitedly at the pleasant weather. And the air was crisp and fresh in that way it only ever got the morning after a tremendous storm. Like the whole town was dawning from a cleansing night, the horrors wiped clean and the sins washed fresh. Even the crooning aves sounded rejuvenated, bursting with early morning hope.

It all put Elena in a sour mood, alienating her even deeper from the lively progression of time going on all around her.

She felt like the entire last month clung to her flesh, crusting her in everything that had happened. To say the least, it was not a pleasant feeling. And after last night, all she wanted was to go home and take a ridiculously long soak in a hot bath. Maybe it'd help ease the ache of her muscles. She was so tense she felt ready to shatter at a moment's notice.

She was headed toward Maple Street, in fact, intending on just that. But when she turned onto her road, she was suddenly struck with an inexplicable reluctance. Something told her to not go home yet. She couldn't understand it, but the urge was strong and she'd turned the silver Escape off Maple Street before she'd even consciously decided.

She wasn't ready to head to the Grill yet, either, though, so she wasn't exactly sure where she was going. Despite her uncertainty, the Escape kept going, directed by her body which was moving on autopilot and opting to not consult her brain, as it'd been doing quite frequently as of late. It was really becoming bothersome how comfortable she was becoming, letting her instincts run the show.

She was supposed to be freaking out right about now. There were so many things to wig over. Really, she should be _seriously_ freaking. But her mind was surprisingly static. A hushed sort of content had come over her and even through the discomfort, she wasn't feeling as if things were altogether horrible.

Funny, right? Maybe this was the sign that she'd been waiting for. The one that clearly stated: _You've officially lost your mind_.

_Anyway_, she took a breath and blinked, shutting the car's engine off as she found herself parked by the curb on Laurel Avenue. Sighing, Elena grabbed her coat crumpled in the passenger seat and hopped out onto the pavement, stuffing the keys into her pocket as she rounded to the sidewalk. She wasn't sure what she was doing here, but she found it was unimportant as her feet brought her around the corner of storefronts and through to the next block over.

The same sunny sky that had cast itself over the road was shining down on Mystic Falls Cemetery and, for some reason, seemed unnatural. Every time she'd ever been here, which was many, the clouds had been thick and the light gray. The way it was supposed to be. But now, the atmosphere seemed off somehow. Where was the gloomy grayness, the swirling mist? It wasn't nearly as creepy or unsettling as she was used to it being.

_Obviously_, she thought dryly, _I've been living in an old horror movie for too long_. The weather wasn't affected by her mood and the cemetery wasn't some unearthly set that lent to the scenario just so. This was real life and sometime in between psycho-stalker vampires and bloodthirsty werewolves, she'd forgotten that. _Don't forget the witchy ghosts_, she reminded herself, unable to hold back the ludicrous giggle that bubbled up from her chest.

Elena shook head, marveling amusedly at all of the weirdness as she crossed into the unkempt part of the graveyard, where the old headstones and the fallen monuments were left to drown in the overgrown grass and shrubbery. As she weaved through the wild brush, slinking deeper into the woods, she found herself feeling almost giddy.

_Maybe it's all this sunshine and fresh air_, she shrugged, _probably going to my head_.

Either way, she was enjoying the weightless feeling rippling through her.

It wasn't long before she came across the river. After last night's storm, the normally rough water was flowing placidly, sparkling under the rays that bounced off its surface. With a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth, Elena made her way down to the quiet bank, fingers working deftly at the buttons of her coat. By the time she brought her feet to teeter on the precipice of the rocks she'd already shrugged out of her jacket and was reaching for her blouse.

She tugged it over her head and let it drop to join her jacket on the ground. The bank was lined with water-smoothed pebbles, so she wasn't worried about her clothes getting stained—not that she wouldn't have let them drop in a puddle of mud at the moment. A sudden breeze picked up, tunneling through her dirty hair, and Elena laughed outright, tossing her head back and letting her eyes flutter against the warm light. Her skin was still feverish to the touch and with the chill of the air smoothing over her, the contrast was delicious.

She felt dirty, oily and sticky, stained even. And her heart was picking up its pace now that she'd found such a strangely enticing alternative to returning home for a shower. She toed out of her boots while her hands undid her belt and jeans and shimmied them down her hips.

Her bra came off next and as she flung it carelessly out to her side, she laughed again, practically dancing along the riverbed, reveling in the powerful confidence that came from this exert of grace and balance. She felt as fluid as the river itself, every nerve ending sparking to life with an almost lazy drawl of poise. Then, after hopping back and forth to tug off her socks, Elena stripped out of her underwear and discarded the flimsy slip of fabric along with the rest of her possessions.

A second later, she had dived from the bank and driven smoothly into the icy clear water. She flipped, twisting her body and kicking upward, and broke the surface, gasping for air even as she laughed again. The feeling was wonderful. Beyond wonderful. She was ecstatic, all of a sudden, and there was no rhyme or reason to it as far as she could discern.

Breathing the crisp air in deeply as she spun lazy circles within the restless water, Elena tipped her head back toward the sky and shut her eyes, enjoying the lack of gravity and the immeasurable grace that had settled over her.

She didn't even mind that she was alone. In fact, she loved it. Out here in the river, this deep in the woods, completely detached from the world. It was freeing. She felt unrestricted and carefree. Every stressing twitch and strain over every muscle in her body had evaporated, leaving her deliriously exhilarated and effortlessly contented all in the same moment.

Up above, a vaguely familiar set of olive eyes peered down at her, niggling a sense of intrusiveness at her insides. But it was so subtle, she was barely even aware of it. And it was certainly not enough to take her down from this breathy high. She stopped though, halting her swimming to tread absently, to look up at the tall oak tree looming over the waterfront. Perched nearly at the very top—so far she shouldn't have been able to see it—was a distinctly unnerving little owl. Pure whiteness in a sea of browning greenery, narrow slits of glowing fallow glinted down at her. The intensity of the creature's stare prickled along her skin just as if the sharp root of a feather had been drawn over her.

What in the world was an arctic snowy owl doing here in southern Virginia? As the thought ran through her mind, suspicion blossoming like a sick disease, Elena felt it again, the fingernail being dragged up her spine. She shuddered, spinning away from the thing's intelligent eyes and ducking underwater. She was determined to not let this smother her delight. She hadn't felt this good in years and she'd be damned if she let her increasing paranoia and a silly little bird ruin it for her.

She eggbeater-kicked to the bottom of the river and arched, running her hands up through her hair, trying to get it clean. Sure, without shampoo, it would dry lank and coarse, undoubtedly, but at least it would be somewhat less dirty. And if there was any mercy for her at all, it would no longer reek of spearmint and cinnamon, two such contrasting scents that seemed to carry on her olfactory senses almost constantly nowadays.

The reminder of the Salvatore brothers made her inwardly sigh, even as she kicked off from the rocky bed and broke above, sucking in a sharp gasp of air, reveling in the sear of her lungs. She drew a hand quickly over her face as the other smoothed backward over her wet hair, and when her eyes were clear, she chanced a glance upward. Her gaze found the owl instantly, still watching her, but when their stares met, the creature let out a sudden hoot and jerked into a flurry of flapping wings, leaping airborne.

"And I thought the crow was creepy," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head and tearing her eyes away from the direction the owl had gone. The sleek black creature with the beady obsidian eyes that seemed to burn right into her had stalkerish tendencies, no doubt, but at least it couldn't pull an _Exorcist_ on her. "Thank God."

Folding abruptly, Elena went headfirst down to the bottom of the river, crashed with her hands flat against the pebbles below, and pushed off, legs crooking above her and back curving as she somersaulted in a structured arch. A few fancy floorless pirouettes later and she was backstroking her way back to the bank with a resigned sigh.

On her feet, shifting weight from one bare foot to the other as she wrung out her hair and dripped dried to the best of her capabilities, Elena chewed on her bottom lip and frowned thoughtfully.

That owl had been in the cemetery every time she'd gone there. It had made a starring appearance in not one but three of her extra-creepy dreams. And she'd caught it quite a few times in the trees outside the boarding house. This couldn't be a coincidence. She wasn't as dense as to think that. But neither could she explain it.

Damon could take on the form of the crow. Stefan had told her that only the most powerful vampires, the ones that had lived a long time taking the life essence of humans, could assume animal form, and even then, usually they could only adopt one form at the most. Stefan couldn't because he'd spent most of his undead life feeding off of animals. He was weaker because of his morals—the same reason his powers, like compelling, didn't always work right.

She didn't for a second believe he could suddenly shapeshift. He'd have had to consume a massive amount of human blood. And he wouldn't even feed on her, though she'd offered him more than once. She assumed it was because once he got a taste, like an addiction, the urge would become harder to control again.

Besides, if one of them were watching her now, she was certain she would sense it. Her awareness of both Damon and Stefan had been strengthening over the past month, but these last few days it was especially present. It felt like an iridescent tingle ghosting along her flesh whenever one of them was near. Then the beat of her heart would accelerate and her pulse would quicken. The quiet awakening in the pit of her stomach was like innate radar attuned to the Salvatores.

But if it wasn't them . . . _well, who said the owl was a shifter, anyway?_ She huffed out an irritated breath and flung her damp hair over one shoulder. Sure, it seemed to be following her. And those eyes—there was a keen knowingness there that belied the charade of its form. But it hadn't done anything but watch. If it was something else, some sort of shifter, it would have announced itself by now. All the others had.

But, then again, what if . . . _oh, forget it._

_Maybe it's just my imagination_, she thought, sighing quietly as she bent down to pick up her bra and panties. Her hair fell in dark ropes around her shoulders, the stray lock sticking to her throat or the curve of her jaw as she worked her clothes back on, piece by piece.

Once she was clothed and shoed and feeling a bit fresher and less used-up than she had when she'd first woken up, Elena started off through the trees. She got to the cemetery a few minutes later and cut through until she was back to Laurel Avenue, where she'd left the Escape.

Just as she began fishing the keys from her pocket, Elena stopped and stepped back onto the sidewalk, glancing this way and that down the sedated business street. Mystic Grill was on the corner only four blocks down. She'd walk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gabriel McKittrick slipped through the backdoor of Grandfather's house and silently made his way upstairs to the last bedroom at the end of the hall. He disappeared inside the room and locked the door behind him. He couldn't remember whether his little brother was working this morning or not, but either way, he didn't want to risk running into him until he'd had himself a nice long shower and any lingering scent of blood on his skin was scrubbed clean.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Noah Calhoun was a patient man. A hundred years worth of patience was running through his blood. His first test of patience and restraint had been Katherine. She was the very first creature that had caught his eye since being sired merely a decade before. Thirteen years in Katherine Pierce's company had taught Noah many things. The most succinctly ingrained lesson she'd branded him with was Patience. An almost even amount of Calculation and Desire must go hand in hand if you were expected to sustain a life undetected and unhindered.

And he had indeed been patient.

He'd come to Mystic Falls, returned for the first time in over ninety years, on an errand for little Anna. _Why_ he was playing feeble Anna's errand boy was something he couldn't quite discern. She too knew patience, likely even better than he himself. She had lived the last century thinking of nothing but correcting an ancient mistake. She had done nothing all of this time but bide her time, growing stronger and gathering connections, as she waited for the perfect opportunity to return and set free her imprisoned mother, Pearl.

Personally, Noah had no stake in her little rescue mission. He couldn't care less about those vampires entombed below the ruins of Fell's Church. He'd long since forgotten about his former coven, mostly due to the fact that for the first five decades, he had believed they had all perished in the fire of the church. _Because no one had informed him of the witch's spell_. Not that he was very perturbed about that, no, of course not . . . but it did rankle him just a bit, being left in the dark like that concerning those who had been his people.

Then when he'd come across Anna and Sebastian in New York, spring of 1922, and insisted they catch up on old times, the story had come out. In result, all of those old affections for the lovely Lady Pierce had resurfaced. Since then, he hasn't quite managed to let go completely, which was most likely the reason he had come.

He'd thought it a lost cause and refused to exert any effort or hope whatsoever. It didn't matter one way or the other. But then he saw her.

_Elena_.

His first night back in Mystic Falls and who should he find but none other than both Salvatore brothers, right where he'd left them all that time ago. The acidic chafe of jealousy stung him once again, as if he was right back in 1864 and it was happening all over again.

It was the week before the comet. Anna had told him that it was the astronomical event that would activate the witch's imbued crystal and provide them with the chance to open the tomb. But she had neglected to tell him just who the crystal belonged to. No, that he had to find out on his own. Assuredly, if he had known Damon Salvatore had the crystal, he would never have come here and gotten involved in this mess, once again.

He'd barely made it out alive the first time this chaotic circus had gone around and he had no desire to throw himself back into another go-around.

Unfortunately, it was far too late now. For he had returned and he had discovered the Salvatore brothers in the center of it all and more than that—and this one, he was certain, was the kicker, the irrevocable chance of that bitch fate's momentum that doomed him—he saw her, Elena Gilbert. She was the exact replica of Katherine Pierce, down to the flecks of gold in those molten chocolate eyes of hers and the subtle sway of her hips.

After the initial shock, he knew. It was clear. He _had_ to have a taste of her. He needed that warm honey that rushed erotically through her veins to flow down his throat. He needed to sink his teeth into the soft, smooth flesh of that curving neck. He just had to hear her scream, feel her go limp in his arms as her life essence flowed from her and into him.

There was no way around it. He was the predator and she was his prey. The ending was inevitable. It was just the journey that caused him hesitation.

The Salvatores had taken up with her. And after the lycan attack, there was rarely a moment that she was unguarded by one of them in some way.

It was infuriating. It took all of his carefully constructed self-control to not do something brash. He couldn't afford to reveal himself to them just yet. He wasn't about to let his one chance slip by because he lost his patience. No, this was delicate and had to be handled as such.

The day was unusually sunny though, and it grated against his comfort, making him on edge and irritable. He had his lapis lazuli ring, of course, but it still put pressure on his eyes and made his system feel drained. Not like the darkness that always invigorated him. The night before had been difficult, as well. Not only was there no chance at getting to Katherine's twin, but then his hunting was disrupted by that imbecile, Nicholas.

What he had been doing here in Mystic Falls was beyond Noah. He had no interest in the tomb below the church, or the girl, and from the grapevine Noah knew that he wasn't particularly fond of the Salvatores any longer. So what could have possibly brought him here, right now, when there was so much activity in this tiny town?

_Something must be in the air_, he thought, thinking amusedly over the many intricacies of goings-on in the shadows of the night in this town as of late.

Anna and her pet, Sebastian, were staying in a room at the Mystic Motel on the edge of town, plotting and scheming. He'd heard that the crystal she needed had been destroyed, and she was furious but not defeated. Now that she was so close, he had no doubt that the little one would not give up until she had set her mother free. Which was fine by him. He would be pleased to see Katherine again.

Then there was this lycan that was running wild. Normally, Noah said: "to each his own." But this mongrel was sloppy and stupid and it was a bit irritating. It was bringing attention to things that were better left in the shadows.

Not to mention he'd come across quite an unordinary amount of vampires since he'd come back to Mystic Falls. It was never a good idea to have this many of them residing so closely together for an extended amount of time, not in this day and age.

But he wasn't worried about that. Other than the girl, he had no attachments here. He would blow town whenever he pleased, _before_ things got out of hand. He'd leave the others to clean up the mess. It was of no concern to him.

In fact, he was beyond tempted to just walk out of this dingy little rented room and track the girl down, take her right here and now. But he didn't bother. She'd be with the Salvatores, protected and contained. It was the last day of the lycan's lunar cycle. Tonight would be the third night of the full moon and since he knew she had yet to change, it would happen today, sometime, for sure. Noah had absolutely no desire to deal with that mess.

No. He'd waited this long. So he could wait a little longer. Until after the full moon, when things had settled down again and the girl was at her most delectable brilliancy.

Yes, Noah Calhoun was a patient man. He would continue to wait.

He just needed to make sure Anna and Sebastian didn't interfere. It wouldn't do to have the little one spout off her inane mouth about his presence here to the Salvatores. No, that wouldn't do at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tyler Lockwood was a self-assured boy. Confident and cocky and couldn't give a shit what people thought about him, because he was cool, no doubt about it. So, it was a given that Tyler Lockwood _did not_ pace anxiously, or run his hands through his hair _repeatedly_, or chew on the hangnail bothering his left thumb, or mumble vehemently to himself. Yet, here he was, doing all of the above as he waited for Elena out in front of the Grill.

Mr. Saltzman had brushed by him a few minutes earlier, asking if he was alright, and Tyler and waved him off, aggravated and brusque. Then the history teacher had taken a seat at one of the tables on the other side of the patio and took up a menu. He acted like he was preoccupied with himself but Tyler could feel the older man's attention focused on him.

It got to be too much, so he escaped inside the Grill and made his way up to the bar to order a drink. His throat had been burning ever since he woke up this morning, naked and covered in dirt and leaves in his backyard. He'd had this unquenchable thirst ever since.

Ben McKittrick was behind the bar, as usual, and Tyler waited for him to finish up with Old Man Walters before he beat on the top of the hardwood bar for Ben's attention.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Elena," Alaric called. She was tempted to feign deafness and just keep on going, but something made her turn around. A crease formed in his brow when their eyes locked. He beckoned her over, a friendly smile tugging at his lips, and she let out a defeated breath.

"Mister Sal—Alaric," she caught herself, slipping into the café chair opposite his own and forcing a smile to match his own.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," she shrugged.

"Why's your hair wet?"

Elena's hands flew top her hair. She'd pulled it into a makeshift bun on her way. "Hairdryer broke," she retorted.

He let out a soft laugh. "I see. Normally, I'd mention something about catching pneumonia, but I don't think that applies to you."

Elena stilled. _What's that supposed to mean?_ Clearing her throat uncomfortably, she hedged. "So, what are you doing here?"

He made a light gesture and propped his elbow on the table. "Hungry," he shrugged, raising his brow at her, "That so unusual?"

"'Course not," she replied, thinning her lips. "But I'm actually here to meet someone . . ."

"Yeah," he nodded. "I'm supposed to be having breakfast with your aunt, actually. But she just called to let me know she's running late." A moment slipped by as she sat stock-still, awkward. He was too busy searching her eyes with his own to notice. "So, that breakfast date of yours, are they here now?"

Elena cast a cursory glance around them for no particular reason. "No," she answered cautiously.

He brightened considerably. "Good then, you can keep me company while I wait for Jenna."

"As appealing as that sounds," Elena muttered, "I think I'm going to go check inside for Tyler." She was half-risen from her seat when his hand darted out and wrapped gently around her elbow, halting her in her tracks. Widening her eyes in surprise, Elena turned to look down at him and lifted a sharp eyebrow. He wasn't bothered, but he did draw his hand back.

"There's something you and I should discuss."

She sunk back in her seat, only so she could cross her arms unencumbered by the weight of keeping herself in between standing and sitting. "Is there now?"

He eyed her, suddenly going expressionless and still as stone. A skitter of discomfort shivered up her spine, but she bit down on the inside of her lip and ignored it. Alaric was looking at her keenly, as if he knew something he shouldn't. "Elena," he said quietly, unperturbed and persistent. "It's time we talked about the attack."

She stiffened. "Beg your pardon?"

"I know what's happening to you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she bit out, narrowing her eyes warningly at him.

"I think you do."

Taking in a steadying breath, she clenched her hands on the table and leaned forward. "I have no idea what you _think_ you know, but I don't believe my business concerns you . . . especially if you're sharing whatever you think you know with my aunt."

"Jenna's a smart woman," he said amiably. "She's figuring things out for herself. I don't think you'll be able to keep her in the dark for much longer, and that has nothing to do with me. I agree—your business is none of mine and it's not my place to talk to Jenna about it. But _you and I_ do need to talk about it."

He offered another amiable smile at Elena's sharp intake of breath. She was not comfortable with this, not at all. She angled her chin and arched her eyebrow stubbornly.

"You think I haven't noticed that ring you wear," she told him, almost defiantly, tilting her head to one side. "That stone . . . lapis lazuli, right? It's uncommon in jewelry nowadays. So I find it . . . peculiar that—having never come across it before in my life—suddenly this past year I meet three men, all with the same affinity for wearing that particular gemstone at all times."

It was kind of sad that she was more surprised than he was by this. She hadn't made the connection before. Sure, she'd glanced at the ring once or twice, but she hadn't taken a good look at it and wasn't sure it was the same kind of stone Stefan and Damon both wore to protect them from daylight. But right now, it glinted off the sun on his right ring finger and there was no doubt what it was.

"Care to explain why you wear that?" she challenged, feeling triumphant as he shifted in his seat.

He started absently twisting it around his finger and she fell back against her chair as his expression guarded. "It was a gift from my late wife," he said quietly, no edge of anything to his voice. "She was a preternatural historian." There was meaning in his eyes as they peered through her, but she couldn't quite grasp it. Or she just wasn't sure she wanted to.

"Sorry I brought it up."

"Look, Elena, I'm not trying to corner you. There's no need for deflecting."

She bristled at that. "Aren't you?"

"No," he replied evenly, pulling her up short.

"Then why confront me like this?" She frowned, shaking her head. "Like a trap meant to ensnare me, waiting innocently—"

"No trap," he chuckled. "No ensnaring either, I promise. I've been debating coming to you for awhile now and when you walked by," he paused to sigh and scratched once at the back of his head, "I just think it's time we talk."

Still stiff, she deliberated over whether or not she should just flee right now before anything else could get said. But her curiosity got the best of her. "So talk."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey man! Get your hands off me. What the hell are you doing?" Tyler jerked his arm free of Ben's bruising grip and tried to backtrack, but Ben stepped quickly into his path before he could get to the door that would take him back out to the bar.

"Give us a sec," Ben demanded gruffly and Frankie the cook immediately hopped down from where he'd been sitting on one of the counters, mindlessly, and trudged out of the room. Once they were alone, Ben turned back to Tyler.

"What's with you, man?" Tyler growled, trying to shove past the older boy.

Ben shoved back, standing his ground. "I don't think so. You and I have a few things to discuss first, Lockwood."

"Like what?" Tyler exclaimed, bewildered and more than a little pissed off.

Ben snatched him up by the lapels of his dark jacket, grabbing a clump of the thick material in his fist, and pulled Tyler up close so he would listen. "Stay away from my brother."

Tyler frowned. "Huh?"

"Gabriel," Ben growled. "You keep away from him, Lockwood. I get what's happened to you is confusing and more than a little messed up. But getting involved with my brother and any of his plans would be about the worst thing you could think to do."

"Gabriel," Tyler echoed thickly, dazing. "You mean . . . that thing, that's your _brother_?"

"Yes," Ben ground out through his clenched teeth, then released Tyler with a bit of a shove. "And he's sick. He needs help. I've got enough on my hands trying to keep him in check—I don't need you falling in line to help him with his crazy."

Tyler's befuddled expression was steadily un-clouding and the rage that was overcoming him was making him shaky. "You . . . you . . . that thing . . . he's what attacked me? He's what turned me into this . . . this thing! And you know what's going on? You knew from the beginning and you let him do this to me?" he growled, advancing on Ben with clenched fists and a grinding jaw. He swung up in a rage, but Ben was too quick. He'd ducked and spun and was standing on the balls of his feet behind Tyler's back before the younger boy had blinked.

"Look, he used to be as normal as me. It wasn't until recently that he . . . snapped, or something. Since I found out, I've been trying—" Ben sidestepped Tyler as he lunged for him again and the boy careened into the metal trolley beside the stoves. "—to keep him from causing too much trouble, but as you can see—I haven't been as successful as one would hope."

Tyler let out a guttural growl as he turned himself around and charged at Ben again. He moved fluidly, spinning and catching Tyler under the arms, locking his hands behind Tyler's neck, incapacitating him. Tyler struggled and thrashed, grunting and cursing, but Ben refused to relent. He was waiting it out until Tyler got his temper under control, which could take awhile.

"Look," he said tiredly, "I can't do anything about what you are now. That's done. But you have a choice. You can learn to control it. Or you can listen to my idiot brother and drive yourself insane. The more people you kill, the more your sanity deteriorates. No joke. . . . But on second thought, I really can't let you do that, so you're only choice is to get a handle on yourself and avoid my brother."

When Tyler reluctantly admitted defeat and stilled in Ben's hold, the older boy released him and Tyler turned to slump against the wall tiredly, panting for breath. "How am I supposed to do that?" he demanded. "I can't . . . disobey him," he managed to spit out through his teeth, acidic, like a bad taste on his tongue. The words nearly choked him.

Ben sent him an arched look. "Yes, you can. You've just got to make the decision and stay strong. Just don't let him get into your head and you'll be fine."

Tyler slumped further, sagging down to the floor with a desolate sigh. "I'm supposed to—"

"I know," Ben nodded and made a gesture toward the kitchen door. "He wants you to kidnap Elena Gilbert and trap her in the Cromwell tomb at the cemetery so she'll be there tonight when she changes—right where he wants her."

Tyler looked up, irritation flickering over his face. "How'd you know that?"

Ben tapped a finger to his temple and smirked. "I got all your thoughts in my head, buddy. Your brain's like an open book now."

The muscles in Tyler's jaw jumped angrily as another low growl escaped him. "What the fuck?"

Ben leaned back against the counter and folded his arms, calm and bored. "It's what you are now. We're your predecessors," he explained. At Tyler's crumpled look, he went on. "This curse between me and my brother is a family thing, passed on through bloodline and genetics."

"Yeah right," Tyler scoffed bitterly, clenching his fists.

"_But_ a mutated strain of it can infect norms like you and Elena Gilbert. That's what happened. Because Gabe got it in his head that he needed a pack." He paused to shake his head and heave a heavy sigh. "Ever since the Historical Society sent over that diary of our ancestor, the first one of us McKittricks—the one that started the line . . . Gabe's been obsessed. He's a completely different person." He shook himself out of his reverie and grew succinct. "And really, I'm sorry about what's happened."

Tyler snorted. "Yeah, you sound real sorry."

"I am."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elena took another sip of the ice water sitting in front of her. She was utterly parched but couldn't manage more than a few sips at a time, for some reason—probably because she was too tense. Her eyes darted back to Alaric to find him watching her closely.

"So," she stopped to clear her throat, "let me get this straight." He looked on at her as she fidgeted, waiting patiently, expectant. Elena drummed her fingers along the white tablecloth. "You're wife was a witch . . . who was having visions about a serial killer, which led to her tracking said killer, which led to her being killed."

"Yes."

"And you think that the person—or, more precisely, creature—that killed your wife is the same person/creature that attacked me."

"Yes."

"And you think this because you've been tracking the thing, out for revenge, and it led you here to Mystic Falls."

"Yes."

"So," she sighed, sinking lower in her chair with desolation, "you know what I'm becoming."

"Yes," he said again, solemn and quiet as he leaned over the table toward her with soft eyes. "I wanted to talk to you . . . because I wanted to make sure that _you_ know what you're becoming."

Elena moved her shoulders disinterestedly, playing with the napkin on the table and tracing a fingertip along the perspiration of her glass of water. "I get the gist."

"I know a lot," he told her suddenly, leaning his elbows on the table and looking at her in earnest. "My wife was a preternatural historian. She collected a lot of data on these things before she went after it."

A frown pulled at Elena's brow. "Mm, if I can ask . . . why did you let her go?"

"I didn't," he said briskly, glancing away. "I didn't know about the visions until I found her research, after she'd died. I was . . . away."

Elena nodded softly, accepting this. "So," she said in a brighter tone, digressing as quickly as she could. The dark look that crossed his features every time he spoke of his wife made Elena feel uncomfortable, guilty and helpless. "You know a lot about them?"

Alaric cleared his throat, shrugging off the creeping emotion. "Hm. Yes." He cleared his throat, looking back at her amiably again. "I could tell you," he suggested, waiting for her eager nod. His eyes flicked down to her mouth as she caught her lip between her teeth and bit down. He smelled the blood before he saw it, but opted against comment.

With a deep breath and a steady, soothing, even tone of voice, everything Alaric knew of lycanthropes and their descendants, the werewolves, was splayed out before her as if it were one of his history lessons.

_What he knew . . ._

_Males_ are often overcome with a bloodlust in animal form—white noise of sorts, so white-hot that it is the detached need of a pathological serial killer, whereas _females_ are overwrought and emotionally unstable at times, prone to outbursts of violence but not likely to result in anything as brutal as murder.

The intense ardor of sorts that she was experiencing was because of that.

Most lycans bond with a mate as soon as they come of age or—in the rare case of a victim surviving an attack and the resulting transition—right after their first lunar cycle. This helps balance out the two extreme temperaments. That is why a lone lycan is always more unstable, more dangerous, less in control than a pack or a pair.

The differences between the sexes is substantial, but even more is the differences between the two species, lycan and werewolf. Born and Turned differ not only in psychology and physiology, but also dominantly differ physically.

They have been around for centuries, and their mythology goes back almost as far as the mythology on vampires. The first conclusive mention of the lycanthropy virus originated from the Wicca civilization, which outdates both Christianity and Celtic. But the Roma literature is what holds the most factual information on the lycans. It seemed the Gypsies our lycanthrope ancestors. If they—'

"Okay," she cut in, feeling queasy. Elena rubbed at the crease in her brow because a dull pain had settled there through his lecture. Her head was spinning. The info was pretty simple enough to take in, but still, it was a lot to swallow. And she didn't really care about most of it. There was only one thing she wanted to know. "That's all well and good, Mr. Saltzman. But what do you know about curing it?"

His face pulled for a second, threatening to form a frown of confusion, before his expression smoothed. "Cure," he said softly. "The only thing you're interested in is finding some way to reverse what's happened to you," he concluded, nodding and sitting back in his seat.

Elena nodded vigorously, palms splayed flat against the tabletop. The scratchiness of the tablecloth chafed her senses but she didn't pull back. "Do you know anything about that?"

Alaric took in a deep breath, slowly, deliberating, before he let it out and settled his gaze on her evenly. "The only way to reverse the change in you is to sever the bloodline."

Elena's heart stuttered, stopped, and leapt in the space of a nanosecond, even while her stomach grew weighed down by something indescribable. "And by that you mean . . . ?"

"Killing the sire before your first shift," he said vacantly, his features intentionally guarded.

A set of feral silver eyes glinted at her in her mind. She remembered the way they seemed to glow, charged with a rage-powered energy that made it hum, glorying in the macabre. She'd blocked it out spectacularly since that night . . . but occasionally, she'd shut her eyes and the image would burn itself once again into her retinas. It was terrifying and never eased, no matter how many times she remembered it.

Somehow, through the tumult, she found her voice. "Are you sure the one you're after is the one that infected me?"

Alaric eyed her intently for a moment as he nodded in answer.

"How sure?" she croaked.

"Positive," he insisted. "But I haven't found him yet."

"Why not?" she whispered, swallowing past the lump in her throat and blinking the clouds from her eyes as she steeled with determination.

"I don't know who he is—in human form. He could be anybody. And in animal form . . . it's not exactly easy to track him. So far, I've been half of a step behind him every time I get close."

"What're you going to do?" she asked carefully, straightening and squaring her shoulders almost rigidly.

"I'm working on that."

"What does that mean?" she snapped.

Alaric's face was deceiving placid. "I haven't decided yet: is what that means. I'm still figuring things out."

Elena huffed out a sharp sigh, leaning back again though her body remained tense and rigid. "Well, while you're figuring things out, I have about ten hours before I'm stuck like this for the rest of my life."

"Which will be considerably longer now that you're . . ." he trailed off at her sharp look.

"I don't even want to know what that means," she huffed. "Do you—"

"Rick."

Elena froze, eyes going wide, at the sound of her aunt's voice. She twisted slightly in her seat to see Jenna coming up to the table. She was smiling, but it was forced, and the strain of it showed in her eyes. Elena swallowed and tried not to move.

"Elena," she said in surprise, arriving at the side of the table and setting a hand down on her niece's hot shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

"Just coming for a bite to eat when I spotted Alaric, waiting for you," Elena retorted smoothly, offering her aunt a bright smile. "I was keeping him company. But now that you're here, I really should be going."

"Mm Hm. You better get back to the library," she said innocently.

Elena was on her feet and turning when she had to spin back to cast her aunt a perplexed look. "Huh?"

"Oh, you know," Jenna went on, eyes widening theatrically, "like Jeremy said, you snuck out of the house at the crack of dawn this morning to go for a run, but of course, after that you went for a drive, and then you ended up at the library, where you planned on spending the whole day . . . catching up on your reading."

Elena ducked her head, trying to hide the smile that forced itself onto her lips. She chuckled. "Yeah, right, that . . . I should get back to that then."

Jenna nodded keenly, a _'you just wait'_ look on her face. "You do that."

With a quick glance at Alaric, Elena turned and headed off down the sidewalk, back toward her Escape. It wasn't until she'd unlocked the driver's door and climbed in that she remembered why she'd gone to the Grill in the first place. _Tyler_. He'd wanted to talk to her about something. He'd seemed so adamant. Why would he stand her up after practically begging her to meet him? Well . . . whatever. She had more important things to worry about.

She pulled out into the street and was headed back to the boarding house when her pocket started vibrating. She coasted toward a stop sign as she dug into her jeans and pulled out her cell. A text message from Bonnie told her that the others were waiting at Elena's house for her.

With a sigh, she dropped her phone into the passenger seat and flipped a bitch, curving round to head the opposite direction.

_Well, this should be fun_, she thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"'_I__drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart . . .'"_

Grace Harper listened to the sound of her own voice, letting the melody soothe her frazzled nerve endings. The sedated thump of her heart as the muscles coiled around it only seemed to cause more tension in her body. Her knuckles furled tighter around the steering wheel, foot arching down over the accelerator as she sped down the interstate. There were no other cars for miles. She was completely alone . . . yet not alone, because she was never alone. There was always something or someone invading her awareness, disrupting her peace.

Right now, it was Nicholas.

She could've blocked him out. Normally, she would have at a time like this, when she was feeling so wound-up. But it wasn't the best time. She needed to keep her energy attuned to him, at least until she made it to Mystic Falls, which was where she was headed, racing down this deserted stretch of interstate.

Boy, he was so gonna get it—unbelievable jerk, making her race across the country to come and check up on his idiotic ass, drag him back home before he got himself into anymore trouble. Seriously, there was no time to waste. Sometimes, she hated having the gift of foresight, especially in correlation to _him_.

She wanted to cast a teleportation spell the second she woke up this morning. With Nicholas in mind, she wasn't a very patient or calm person. But that would've expended too much energy. She'd have been drained and no good to him at all. Besides, from the feel of her dream, she had a bit of time. She just hoped that she made it in time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elena dropped her bag onto the floor in the foyer and tossed her keys into the dish on the nearest end table before she sighed tiredly and trudged into the living room. The house was abnormally quiet and it surprised her. She was expecting everyone to be here. Why weren't they? The house seemed still, the hush of morning weighing heavily.

"Jer?" she called, brow furrowing as she toed out of her boots and peeled off her jacket, letting it fall onto the back of the sofa.

There were ivory pillar candles stacked variously around the room, wax clumped along the sides and pooled at the bottoms. On the coffee table, a selection of books were scattered around, piled and sitting untouched, left open, or strewed. She moved gingerly around the sofa and sunk down onto the edge of it, reaching to peruse the old books.

The first one she opened turned out to be Jonathon Gilbert's journal. Bonnie had told her that it was virtually pointless. He hadn't written anything of any use, as far as she could tell. Elena shut the journal and pushed it across the table, taking up another. Astrid Forbes journal—from the date, she must've been Caroline's ancestor, from around the same time as Jonathon. Bonnie hadn't told her about that. She wondered idly where her friend had gotten it, but then shrugged it off a moment later, assuming it came from either the Forbes's or the Historical Society. Either way, she didn't really care.

The rest of the books seemed to be aged library items, all on the occult.

Sighing, she rose from the sofa and started into the kitchen. Again, the room was empty. _What the hell? Where are they all?_ She was just about to check upstairs when her gaze caught on the casement window above the kitchen sink. Drawn there, she pressed her pelvis into the edge of the counter, fingers tracing along the cool imitation marble, and looked out into the bright backyard.

The lawn was coated in fallen leaves, warm and rustic colors bleeding into the soft rays of golden light outside. A small sycamore grew out of the ground toward the edge of the yard, nearer to the line of woods that semi-circled around the rear of the lot. Maybe ten feet into the air, a gnarled branch of the sycamore stretched outward. Atop it sat a small mourning dove. It was too still, almost lifeless. A shiver ran up her spine. There was something in the air, something unsettling that set her teeth on edge.

_Run_, something whispered inside her, something deep and instinctual. _Get away_, it demanded. Her breath hitched and her body actually tensed. She had to force herself to not do just that. She had to curl her fingers over the edge of the sink to keep from sprinting. This was insane. She was home, in her own house, completely safe. There was nothing to be afraid of. Besides . . . it was daylight. There was nothing to be frightened of right now. She was . . . safe. But still, the churning in her stomach said differently and she couldn't fathom why.

Then a hand settled on her shoulder and she nearly leapt out of her own skin, jumping and twirling and lunging backward as a strangled yelp/scream/shriek escaped her lips.

"Whoa, whoa, Elena, it's alright!" Stefan insisted, curling his hands softly around her arms, keeping her from smashing backward into the French backdoor that led out to the patio. "It's just me . . ."

"_Jesus_, Stefan," she cursed, voice coming out nothing more than a hoarse whisper full of reprimand and relief. _I've lost my voice_, she thought absurdly, taken aback as she brought a hand up to her throat. It slid down a second later and settled over her heart. This had to be the closest thing to a heart attack she'd ever experienced. "Don't _do_ that!"

"Are you alright?" he asked her, worry and confusion battling it out for top spot inside him as she pulled herself gently from him and slumped over the island, pressing her forehead to the countertop.

Once she caught her breath, she righted and turned back to him as calmly as she could. "Yeah, I'm . . . fine?" But she was frowning, thoroughly bewildered. Things were all very _strange_, even for her standards.

He eyed her peculiarly for a long moment, searching through her for something. Then he closed the distance between them and reached out, hand landing hesitantly on the exposed skin of her arm. The touch sparked a short burst of static electricity that coursed between them. She gasped and he started to pull away when her hand turned to dart out and catch him by the forearm.

They watched each other for another long moment of stillness. Then she found her voice. "Where are the others?"

Stefan's eyes went up over her head, briefly. "Bonnie and your brother are upstairs."

"What are they doing up there?"

He shrugged.

"Okay," she sighed, letting go of him and moving out of the kitchen. He followed closely. "Stefan?"

"Yes?"

Elena stopped, resting a hand on the banister of the staircase as she turned back to him. "Do you know anyone who likes to pretend they're an owl?"

His frown deepened. "Not that I recall. Why exactly?"

Staring off thoughtfully, Elena shook her head. "Just curious," she murmured, turning toward the stairs.

He caught her arm and spun her gently back to him. "_Elena_. Talk to me."

She looked up, meeting his eyes, and something soothing rippled through her tense muscles. "It's nothing," she sighed. "Really, I mean it. I'm just imagining things. Nowadays," she looked away, pausing, "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

"You're not," he promised solemnly.

One corner of her mouth lifted, lightly. "How are you so sure? In all likelihood, that's exactly what's going on."

He smiled softly, his grip on her sliding down her arm to settle at her wrist. "I'm not worried." She raised her brow, unbelieving, and he laughed. "Believe me, Elena. Your sanity is about the _only thing_ I'm not worried over these days."

"That makes one of us," she mumbled, smiling despite herself. They lapsed into a comfortable silence again, a few beats going by before she found herself swallowing and taking in a bracing breath of air. "Stefan, listen, about last night—"

The front door opened, in strolled Damon, and Elena's mouth abruptly shut. Stefan spared his brother an irritated glance before he steadfastly fixed his eyes on Elena while she shuffled her feet and pulled out of his grasp, turning back toward the staircase.

"You'll never guess who I just ran into," Damon announced, mostly to Stefan, as he sidled up to them.

"Does it matter?" Stefan asked, still watching Elena as she froze a few steps up, hands falling heavily onto the banister as she looked down between them.

"Depends," Damon replied lightly, eyes on Elena.

"On?"

Damon turned his head toward Stefan, lifting an eyebrow. "On whether you're willing to believe that little Anna Dupré is back in town, cronies in tow, for the winter festival alone."

She got nothing from Damon's light tone, but the way Stefan sobered was enough to tell Elena that whoever this Anna was, it couldn't be good that she was in town. When the boys just looked at each other, she cut in impatiently. "Who's Anna Dupré?"

"An old friend," Damon told her, eyes still on his brother. Elena sunk down to sit on one of the treads, arms on her knees, as the brothers kept their attention on each other.

"It must've been the comet."

"Not how she tells it. But she's always been a little liar."

"Do you think she knows the crystal was destroyed?"

"I'd say so."

"Then why would she still be here?"

"Guys," Elena interrupted sharply, rising to her feet and coming back down to the landing as they both turned to her. "Pardon me for butting in," she drawled sarcastically, "but would one of you mind filling me in on what the hell you're talking about? Who's Anna, and what does she have to do with Emily's crystal—that is, if that's even the crystal you're talking about."

"Got anything decent to drink in this place?" Damon muttered obliviously, striding past her down the hallway and into the kitchen.

She rolled her eyes and turned to Stefan, arching her brow.

"Anna was the daughter of one of Katherine's close friends. Her name was Pearl Dupré and she was trapped in the church with Katherine when it was set fire to."

"Meaning this Pearl is in the tomb below the church now with all of the others."

Stefan nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. "Apparently, Damon wasn't the only one who knew about Emily's spell."

"So, this Anna is here to try to get her mother out of the tomb," Elena said quietly. "But why now?"

"The comet last September," he explained. "It was the first one since 1864 and something to do with Emily's spell made it so that the crystal's power was dormant until the comet occurred. After it had, the crystal could be used to break the binding and open the tomb."

"But Bonnie destroyed the crystal when Emily's ghost possessed her." Elena frowned. "If this Anne was here since the comet, she would've known that, wouldn't she?" He nodded. "So, why would she still be here?"

"Because the crystal isn't the only way to open the tomb," Damon told them, startling Elena slightly as she turned to spot him leaning in the archway of the hall.

"What do you mean?" Stefan demanded. There was an edge to his voice that brought her eyes back to him.

"I mean, little brother . . . there's another way to release them."

"But I thought—" Elena began softly, staring between them.

"First time I heard it was from Logan Fell," he said. "He claimed there were others trying to get into the tomb and that they had found another way." Damon pushed away from the archway and moved toward them. "Before I could get him to tell me _who_, he was killed."

Stefan's eyes went dark. "Others?" he echoed. "How many _others_ did Anna bring with her?"

Damon shrugged, disinterestedly. "How should I know?"

"You are the one that ran into her."

"Broad daylight, in the square near Laurel Avenue," Damon told him. "She was alone and not exactly chatty. Remember, the girl still despises us."

"Why?" Elena asked, feeling her head spin again.

"She blames Katherine and in extension Stefan and I for getting her mother captured and imprisoned."

"And rightly so," Stefan jabbed quietly.

"Why would she turn Logan?" A sick taste coated Elena's tongue as she thought back to that. Was it just a month ago that her aunt's very first true love had turned into a demon and tried to kill her? It seemed so much longer. When no one answered, Elena ran a hand through her hair and sighed, her eyes going nervously to Damon. He was unreadable and had been since the moment he'd stepped into her house this morning. "So, do you know how?"

"How what?" he retorted mildly, his eyes guarded.

"What this other way is," she said. "What's Anna trying to do to get into the tomb?"

He didn't answer her . . . and the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach rose and shifted into a suffocating pressure weighing down on her chest, though she couldn't really put her finger on what it was or why it was there or what it was about. She just knew she didn't like it. It was an unbearable sensation of worry and fear all twisted up in layers of indecision and doubt. Every time she thought life just couldn't get any more complicated, something else cropped up and proved her wrong.

"Elena." She turned at the sound of Bonnie's voice calling to her from up above. "There you are. Stefan said you went to meet Tyler Lockwood. _Please_," she huffed, bounding down the stairs as quickly as she could to rush to Elena's side, "make that make sense to me."

"I can't," she said. "I have no idea what he wanted. He didn't even show up." Bonnie took her by the arm and dragged her into the living room. "But, I ran into Alaric."

"What's so special about that?" Bonnie curled her legs underneath her as she sat down on one end of the sofa.

Elena moved to the bay's window seat across the room and leaned there, arms folded, enjoying the comforting warmth of the sunlight as it baked her back. She couldn't hear the brothers, but she could see them there, talking in voices too low for human hearing, through the entryway that adjoined the foyer and the living room.

She waited until Jeremy had wandered down the stairs and sat down on the sofa with Bonnie before she delved into explaining her chance run-in with Alaric Saltzman, knowing that Stefan and Damon could hear her. She wasn't sure she was going to tell them all everything, but she wasn't aware that she was going to omit anything until she found that she'd innately left certain things unsaid.

"Did he say anything about a cure?" Bonnie asked, wringing her hands in her lap.

Elena hesitated, hands slipping into the back pockets of her jeans as her feet shifted. "He told me . . . that the only way to reverse the transition is to sever the bloodline before my first shift," she told them carefully, watching the way her brother and best friend watched her.

Ever since she'd told them what was happening to her, they looked at her differently. It was minuscule and well-covered with good intentions and love, but it was there in their eyes and she couldn't pretend to not notice it.

If she could just do this, fix it—then everything could go back to the way it was before.

Jeremy seemed oblivious, but she had to bite down on a cringe when Bonnie's gaze narrowed at her, mixing suspicion and incredulity. "Does that mean what I think it means?" she asked. "Sever the bloodline . . . like—"

"If the one that attacked me dies before I physically change form, my transition won't complete. We'll go back to the way things were."

Bonnie pulled back, sinking down against the sofa as her eyes turned away from Elena and her expression clouded into thought.

"But how do you think you're gonna do that?" Jeremy chimed in, his face scrunching skeptically, as if he were debating whether to be worried or amused. "You're not exactly Buffy the Werewolf Hunter, now are you, sis?"

Elena rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying—"

"We've been searching for some way to reverse this, going through all these stupid old books, and I just kinda thought it'd be like a spell or a salve or a potion or something, y'know?"

"Wouldn't that be easy," she drawled under her breath, sinking down onto the window seat.

Jeremy turned to Bonnie, nudging her. "Maybe you could, like, whip something up."

She sent him an arched look. "Whip what up exactly?"

"I dunno." He shrugged. "Experiment, have a vision tell you, ask that ghost."

"Yeah, sure," she snapped, "I'll just go and do that right now."

"Guys," Elena cut in before Jeremy's opened mouth could spout anything back. "Give it a rest for a minute, will ya?" She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "The truth about that is . . . I guess I'm just hoping that Alaric finds the thing before the sun sets. Beyond that, I'm not really thinking about it."

"How's our history teacher going to have better luck with the big furry bad than you would?" Jeremy wondered incredulously.

Elena fidgeted. "He's . . . different." Bonnie and Jeremy's eyebrows went up at her and Elena's gaze flickered over to Stefan and Damon in the hallway. "Like, in the way that they're different."

"Alaric's a vampire?" Jeremy jumped to his feet. "And Aunt Jenna's with him right now! I can't believe—"

"Now I don't know for sure. It's just a hunch," she insisted, holding her hands up at him. Bonnie grabbed his shirt sleeve and tugged him back down to the sofa with a roll of her eyes. She knew there was something off about that guy from the moment she met him. "Besides, he's had plenty of time with Jenna. If he was going to hurt her, he could've done it weeks ago."

"Still," Jeremy grumbled, "what is it with all of you girls all of a sudden? First my sister, now my aunt, I mean, jeez, give it a rest. Find some boys that don't bite, would ya?"

"I'll get right on that," Elena quipped, rolling her eyes at him.

"I could go talk to Grams again," Bonnie suggested quietly, still staring off in thought, brow creased with concern and discomfort. "Maybe this time she'll—"

"Don't bother." They all looked up at Damon as he stepped through the entryway and into the room, Stefan not far behind him. His serious eyes zeroed in on her as if there was nobody else in the room. "She'll say the same thing Saltzman said and that's that the only way to keep you from going wolfy is killing the one that sired you."

Elena stiffened, staring into his eyes. He was still closed off from her, somewhere deep she couldn't reach, and as unsettling as that was, she still understood what he was saying and comprehension brought along a rippling anger.

In a low voice, she said, "You went to see Bonnie's grandmother, didn't you?" He didn't answer, just stood, staring, hands lazily hidden in the pockets of his slacks. "When I asked you if you would, I thought . . ." She hardened, eyes narrowing, lips parted imperceptibly. "You made her tell you how to fix me and then you didn't say a word." Her fingers curled around the edge of the window seat, jaw setting. "Why? Why would you even bother asking her if you were only going to keep it from me?"

"There was no point," he said finally.

"No point?" she snapped. "I've been—" She cut herself off, realizing suddenly with alarm that she was painfully rigid, that the fire was roiling again through her coiled muscles. Her eyes were burning and she couldn't understand why.

But then she heard Bonnie gasp, hand flying to her mouth and eyes widening. "Elena," she whispered, "your eyes."

Elena jerked, ducking and turning her face away, using her tangled, half-dry hair to shield her face from the room as she sucked in a sharp breath and tried to rein back in her control. She rose stiffly to her feet, ignoring the four sets of eyes she could feel burning into her, and fled into the kitchen. On her way, she passed the mirror in the narrow hallway and hesitated, catching sight of the preternaturally golden glow of her irises.

_Platinum eyes bored into her through the shadows._

The one that made her this way, the one that attacked her, its eyes were silver—cold, malicious, gleaming silver. So why were her eyes going golden? Either way, it made her stomach threaten to heave.

She was back at the kitchen sink, hands practically denting prints into the imitation marble of the counter's edge as she trembled, body as uncomfortably hard as adamantine and painfully unyielding. She could feel her heart beating against her chest, muscles constricting around it, making her feel like she couldn't catch her breath, even though she'd stopped breathing. Her pulse ricocheted through her, in her neck and wrist, she could feel that too.

A few moments later, after screwing her eyes tightly closed and gripping the counter for levity, she felt the tension seep from her body, relaxing into an almost human state of being.

That was when she felt the two of them move after her into the kitchen, not a moment sooner or later, as if they could sense her returning.

Silence continued to exude until finally, she turned around and lifted her head, hazel eyes opening. Then he spoke.

"There was no point in you knowing, Elena."

Even with an island counter between them, she could feel his presence radiating through her entire being, just as she could with Stefan.

"Stefan's been looking for the wolf that attacked you, and until we know who it is, there was no point in you knowing that the only way to get what you want is to kill him."

She stared at him, their eyes locked, for a drawn-out moment, the air thickening, until she silently accepted what he'd said, looking a bit regretful and a bit more grateful. Then her gaze rolled over his shoulder to where Stefan was standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

"If you've been searching for it all this time . . ." Her voice died off and she shook her head at herself, rubbing a hand over her face and through her hair, shoving it over her shoulder with a desolate huff. "Then what are the chances of us finding it in the next nine hours?"

It was rhetorical and they knew that, but before anything else could be said, Bonnie brushed between the brothers and rounded the island counter.

"Elena," she said strongly, her expression unbelieving. "Maybe you've been spending too much time with the sociopathic serial killer." Said sociopathic killer ducked his head, smirking, as he chuckled lowly at that. Bonnie paid him no mind and Elena's eyes returned to her friend almost immediately. "Do you not realize what this means? You're talking about killing someone, a _human being_."

"A killer, Bonnie," she retorted instantly, shifting her body to fully face her friend as her palms pressed flat against the island countertop. "This guy has killed and is still killing innocent people. Alaric's wife, that woman on the road that night with me, Meredith Sullivan, and who knows how many others."

Bonnie shook her head. "You don't know that he's any different from you, Elena." She rounded the corner of the island and moved closer, trying to close the distance between them. "What if he doesn't understand what's going on? What if he can't control it? He could be just as innocent in this as you are and you want to just murder him in cold blood? What's happened to you, Elena? We should be trying to help him."

The defensive anger sparked, rippling through her so intensely, it took her breath away. The look in Bonnie's eyes—that look of unbelieving disapproval and accusation; it was enough to make Elena snap, even without Bonnie's words ringing deafeningly through her mind.

"_Maybe_," she professed, jaw locked, chin angled, "I'm sick and tired of caring about it, Bonnie. Did you ever think of that? It's easy for you to be righteous; you're not the one becoming a monster." Bonnie's mouth opened but Elena wasn't finished. "How am I supposed to help this guy when in just a few hours, I'll _be_ him? Who knows whether it's his choice or not? His intentions don't change a damn thing. The end result is the same."

Bonnie shook her head, astonished. "This isn't you, Elena."

"Wanna bet?" she challenged darkly. And before this could get any worse than it already was, Elena brushed past them all and stormed out of the house, retreating to a corner of the front porch and throwing herself heavily onto the old swing.

She couldn't believe that she'd just had a serious fight with Bonnie, of all people. She hated it. Yet, there was a small part of her that felt good to have gotten it out. Even though it led to her hiding out on the porch, under this too-bright sunshine, with a street full of warm and lively obliviousness, soul-searching.

She felt like all she ever did was worry about everyone else and then when she worried about herself or did something selfish, she felt guilty. This past month she'd been so focused on her own problems, and even though she felt that she had more than a right to, all things considered, she still felt guilty and helpless.

But she was right about this and she couldn't expect Bonnie to understand. She hadn't been through what Elena had. She didn't know. She _couldn't_ know. And Elena hated that too. She wanted Bonnie to understand, to be with her in this, to support her. But she wouldn't. And even though Elena got that, she still felt betrayed. And then she felt guilty for feeling betrayed because all Bonnie had been doing all month long was trying to help her.

"_Ugh_," she groaned, tangling her fingers in her hair and dropping her head with frustration.

A few seconds later, the door opened and Stefan stepped out onto the porch. She looked up just as he made his way to her and lowered himself hesitantly down onto the swing beside her.

Elena looked away, tucked her hair behind her ears and crossed her arms over her chest, thinning her lips to get the pout out of them. "Sorry."

"It's not wrong to do what you have to do to take care of yourself," he told her.

She couldn't help but let out a soft laugh of bitterness. "Yes, it is. When the cost is someone else's life, it is."

"Elena . . ."

"I can't do this," she said, swiping the back of her hand across one cheek and shaking her head. Her throat felt tight. "It was after me . . . If I hadn't been walking along Highway 9 that night, it wouldn't have run out in the road. That woman wouldn't have crashed. If it weren't for me, she'd still be alive."

"That's ridiculous," he answered strongly, rushing to stop her line of thought. "Elena, that wasn't your fault."

She watched Ms. Hawthorne and her two ten-year-old twin boys rush out of their house across the street and pile into their purple Nissan, laughing and roughhousing. A dark sparrow swooped down and landed on the railing of her porch a few feet away.

"Whether it is or it isn't," she said under her breath, "she's still dead and the fact of the matter is: she wouldn't be if I hadn't been out there that night." Resolutely, Elena drew in a deep breath and rose to her feet. "I have to accept what I am now . . . deal, so that I can move past it and worry about the one who turned me. Bonnie is right. We need to find this guy—to keep him from killing anyone else, but maybe also to help him."

"Elena—"

"I understand now," she assured him, their eyes locking for a quick moment. "You'll help me, won't you?"

Stefan glanced reluctantly away before coming back to her with a defeated sigh. "Of course, I will." With nothing more, he followed her back into the house, ruffling a hand through his wavy hair and trying to push back the feeling of dread that filled him.

A little while later, Jeremy went up to his room—at the relentless insistence of Elena. He was not to be involved any further. Not for this. Not tonight. And the rest of them gathered in the living room.

"He's going to turn again tonight," Elena announced. "And so am I."

"Elena—" Bonnie started softly, apologetically.

"It's been trying to take me for days now but I've been fighting it." She sat down on the edge of the coffee table, right in front of her worried best friend, and projected an air of reassured confidence to soothe her. "I made it through last night _just barely_. I won't be able to withstand it tonight. I'm going to shift and when I do, I'll be able to sense him."

"What makes you think that?" Damon asked from his spot by the mantel above the fireplace, mildly intrigued.

Elena's spine straightened. "I have no idea. I just . . . know."

"_Okay_ then . . ."

"So, this is where I need you," she told them, eyes darting from Bonnie, to Stefan, to Damon. "I can find him. But when I do, I need you, Bonnie, to trap him—unharmed—before he kills again." At her friend's startled look, Elena went on insistently. "I know you can, we just have to figure out _how_ exactly. And I need you two," she told the brothers, "to keep her safe," she paused, "and guard me. I don't know what I'll be like . . . or what I might do."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anna Dupré was a 5'4, raven and curly haired, pasty, freckled, button-nosed, petite, 175-year-old vampire trapped in the body of a 15-year-old Irish girl. She was also an orphan. She'd been parentless, family-less, loveless since the winter of 1864.

She'd never liked Katherine Pierce. No, actually, it wasn't that she hadn't liked the other women. It was that she couldn't _stand_ her. She was childish, self-centered, naïve, manipulative, and altogether soulless. Under different circumstances, the older woman would simply have been an irritation, a bearable nuisance that Anna would have rolled her eyes at and ignored.

But Katherine Pierce hadn't been a nuisance. She'd been a threat. For some inexplicable reason, she'd managed to wrap the coven around her little fingers and take control of a family Anna had belonged to all of her undead life. It especially grated her that Katherine had the unbreakable love and loyalty of Anna's mother, Pearl. The only person in this godforsaken world that Anna cared about and Katherine had her by the puppet strings.

She'd tried to warn them all that Katherine was no good, that she'd lead them all into trouble. But no one had listened. After all, _what did she know? She was just little Anna_.

And then that supercilious bitch got Anna's mother captured by the townsfolk of good 'ol Mystic Falls and entombed under that godforsaken church, and Anna's animosity became something more—an intense, grudging, loathing, abhorrent _hatred_.

Her hostility toward the Salvatores was miniscule in comparison to her feelings for Katherine Pierce. But still, they had been the objects of Katherine's obsession, the reason she'd delayed the coven and kept them in Mystic Falls. So they had a part in it. Besides, she'd never liked them, for no particular reason.

If Katherine wasn't so much stronger—more powerful, more deadly—than her, then Anna would've gone after revenge for the loss of her mother. But she was, so Anna didn't, because despite everything, Anna Dupré was anything but a moron. Her survival instincts were strong.

So the years went by and still, Anna found no peace. Until that comet arrived, the one Katherine's handmaiden witch foretold of. And the pieces seemed to effortlessly fit together. Hope flickered back into her existence and Anna was off to Mystic Falls.

She kept to the shadows, watching, waiting—biding her time for opportunity. She didn't trust the Salvatores. Stefan was virtually harmless, but Damon was a threat, so she had to be cautious. By the time she arrived and found her bearings, Damon already had the crystal in his possession and under his guard.

There wasn't a time for her to get safely close enough to take it. But then that traitorous _bitch_ of a witch handmaiden came back as a ghost and possessed her descendant, using the vessel to destroy the crystal so that none of the vampires in the tomb would ever be released upon Mystic Falls. Who knew you could have a change of heart a hundred and forty years after you die? And that was that.

Only it wasn't, Anna knew. There was still Emily's grimoire—the book she kept all of her spells in. Anna knew the witch had written the spell she'd used to entomb the coven in that book and with it the reversal spell.

If only she could find the damn thing.

But she was getting closer. She herself had no way to know where the book was. When Emily was caught a few days after Katherine and Pearl and burned at the stake for being a witch and associating with demons, the council took the grimoire and hid it, afraid of the consequences of trying to destroy the book because Emily told them she hexed it.

All Anna needed was to get her hands on the founding council members' journals and pray that one of them wrote of what they did with the spell book. She was sure the answer was here, somewhere in Mystic Falls. She had faith. And she would not be leaving until she'd found the answer, one way or the other, and gotten her mother back.

After all, she'd waited long enough.

She just had to make sure that Noah didn't screw up her plans by doing something stupid.

She rose to her feet, leaving the uncomfortable motel bed behind as she began to pace the tiny room, twirling her lapis lazuli ring around her finger and gnawing on her lip. Patience had never been one of her virtues. Sebastian should've returned by now and she didn't want to go out until he got back.

She stopped by the wide window and peeked behind the curtain, squinting at the painful brightness of sunshine that streamed through. She wondered idly what kind of trouble Sebastian could've gotten himself into during the seven hours he'd been away from her side.

A sharp laugh escaped her at that thought. There was no way to know for sure without going out and looking for him.

_I'll wait another hour_, she thought. By moonrise, she'd have other things to worry about. After all, tonight was the night to make her move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Where blue sky meets the sunrise," she whispered. The wind picked up at the sound of her voice and breezed through her, rustling her tousled hair and eliciting a soft burst of frissons along her overheated skin. Her hands slipped from her pockets and landed on the unfinished wood of the railing, chipped white paint beneath her palms. The night sky stretched around her like an inky canvas, speckled with shiny dots and obscured by the rising globe of silver.

Elena caught the scent of jasmine blossoms and honeysuckle carried through the air and let it fill her olfactory sense, urging her eyes to flutter closed, dark lashes brushing against caramel skin. Her hair fell in messy waves around her shoulders and down her back, skating across her bare flesh, tickling.

It was nightfall already, she couldn't believe it. The day seemed to go by so fast, too fast. Now, looking up at the rising full moon and the obsidian darkness around her, she wished for the blue sky and the yellow light to come back. Crickets and night aves replaced the sounds of the robins and sparrows songs.

The heaviness in her chest had dissipated, leaving her feeling light enough to fly and high enough to fall. How she'd felt at the river this morning was nothing compared to now.

She moved along the length of the backyard's patio, stopping at the top of the steps and lowering herself down to sit on a tread. Thoughtlessly, she unzipped her boots and pulled them off, followed by her sheer socks, and tossed them aside. She rested her legs along the steps beneath her and wiggled her toes, corners of her mouth quirking up at the feel of the breeze.

She could feel the others, inside the house behind her—feel their heartbeats and their softly rising and falling chests and the warmth of their bodies. Jenna had been acting weird all day, completely avoiding her. Jeremy and Damon were on the sofa now, playing Deadly Alliance on her brother's Xbox. Bonnie was still going over the book of spells she'd swiped from her grandmother's house this afternoon, not satisfied, still fretting. Elena had faith in her, but Bonnie was a nervous wreck. She could feel Stefan, at the windowsill in the living room with Damon and Jeremy, probably itching to come out here after her. But he wouldn't. She'd told him that she needed a moment alone.

She sat out watching the night, feeling it pulse through her being, for a little while longer before she decided to go back inside. But just as she was coming to her feet, Elena was brought up short by the noise—the beat that invaded her, thrumming against her skin and filling her head. It was . . . almost like music. It was a melody, she could tell. It was low and deep and steady and never-changing. It was . . . mesmerizing.

It seemed to possess her. She turned around, looking out at the darkness, searching for the source with her eyes and her ears and her sixth and seventh senses. It was coming from the woods beyond the yard.

Licking her lips and blinking back the heady haze, Elena stepped barefoot down the stairs and out into the lawn. She crossed to the old oak tree that rested at the very edge of her yard, bridging the gap between lawn and forest. An owl sat perched on a branch high up above, looking off the other direction and hooting quietly. She paid the creature no mind as she moved around the oak and into the woods, following the call of the melody.

Something inside of her, some small voice that she couldn't distinguish, told her to go back. Go back to Stefan and Damon. Go back to the house. Just turn around and go back. But she couldn't drown out the music. It was calling to her, beckoning her to follow, to come along now, hurry, hurry, come this way.

She just couldn't ignore it. It was impossible.

She had to follow.


	13. The Storm

**Entry 13: The Storm**

Elena couldn't pinpoint when she'd lost consciousness, she just knew that suddenly she found herself completely confused and panicked. All she could remember was the music. And the driving _need_.

It'd seemed to be leading her—drawing her to something or someone. She'd followed the humming melody through the woods, heading east. But the music was so overwhelming, she hadn't been aware of time or her surroundings, so she had no idea how long she walked on for. Just that slowly but steadily, the dense deepness of forest had thinned into wilder brush.

She sensed she'd been coming closer—_to what,_ she was uncertain. But as she drew nearer, the music faded into a droning buzz that seemed to have stars dancing in her vision it was so consuming. And then, everything went dark . . . and when the weighing pressure of darkness dissipated, she was thrust back into awareness with a jolt.

Elena gasped, body jerking as all her mental capacities systematically returned. She twisted and grasped for purchase, and when the ground was nowhere within reach, her throat constricted with panic and shock. She was swinging, almost weightless in midair with nothing substantial near but the rough scrape of rope against her skin. Breathless, she found her hands wrapped tightly around the rope that seemed to be surrounding her, and blinked rapidly, forcing her eyes to adjust.

Silvery light basked over her and as the shock settled she was able to sense the palpable thudding of the full moon's presence as it pressed on her insides. It was an innate feeling of . . . invigoration, yes. This was her time, her place, _hers_. The moon and every ray of its light that brushed her skin like sweet caresses. Its mere presence seemed ingrained into her awareness, as natural as if it had been there as long as the urge to breathe. She didn't need to see it to know it was there above her. And that it was her ally—her friend, her lover, her mother. Her Guardian . . .

The loudness in her ears, she finally realized, was rushing water—fast and steady, rushing and falling in a steady pounding percussion. It was coming from below, ricocheting off surfaces until the deafening echo of it had her surrounded. Which in and of itself was a terrifying thought. _Why?_ And what the hell was going on? She was crumpled up, her legs tangled and twisted up with her torso as her hands gripped onto the rough material above her head. It pressed in on her from all sides, giving no berth, yet yielding easily to her every movement.

_A net!_ Elena realized, and felt like smacking a palm to her forehead. It was some sort of mesh net that she was trapped in. It must've been hanging from something high up, which explained the slow swaying that brought her back and forth with the night's breeze. Carefully, experimentally, she tried to stand, using her grip on the mesh to leverage herself up. But there wasn't enough room and she was more hanging than standing. Balance was not a viable option. And neither, it seemed, was trying to tear her way out. Below her was water. White foam splashed and seized as the river's rapids careened over the curve and cascaded down the forty-foot drop to pierce the disturbed body of water below.

She was hanging out about three feet away from the edge of the jagged bed of rocks surrounding the top of the waterfall. Even if she could manage to tear a hole big enough to fit through in this mesh, she'd still have to figure out where to go from there. _No_, she thought, _definitely not_. Decidedly, tangled up inside this seemingly secure net was a much better option than falling to a painful death below. She'd been swimming in the pond below many times with Bonnie and Matt, and she knew it was _not_ very deep. So all escape attempts could wait until . . . until someone came looking for her. Surely, they'd realized she was gone by now.

_Yes. I'll just . . . wait here. It's not so bad. I'm_ . . . she coasted to a stop, alarm inclining studiously. It occurred to her that what had to be the most pertinent piece of this undoubtedly bizarre puzzle had totally slipped her mind. _How the hell did I get up here?_

She couldn't have done this to herself, no way in hell, even in that weird trance-thingy that came over her. There was no physical way that it was possible that she strung herself up here above the waterfall in a meshed net. And if she didn't do it herself then that meant that somebody else had done this to her.

_Oh God_, she thought, going stiff. _I've been kidnapped . . . er, again._

Whoever it was didn't seem to be here now. But they could come back. And when they did, she was sure she didn't want to be around to find out what they wanted. She'd had enough of evil people and deadly machinations to last a lifetime. And at the moment, she had enough to deal with what with turning into a wolf any minute now and all.

She needed this like a hole in the head.

_Well, screw waiting._ Stefan and Damon were no doubt out tracking her right this minute. With that thought in mind, Elena tightened her grip on the rope and pulled her body up again, stretching to shove a hand through the taut gathering at the top apex of the net, which seemed to be some sort of drawstring mechanism. But with the weight of the rope that was keeping the net up and the weight of her inside dragging it down combined, all she could manage was a hand, and even then, the opening squeezed tight against her wrist, bruising bone.

Elena grimaced, yelping in pain as she tried to wrap her hand around the hanging rope. If she could get a grip on that one, enough to take her weight off of the mesh, then maybe she could get the drawstring open enough to climb through. But it was too high, it hurt too much, and the angle was too unfortunate.

Finally, she snaked her arm back through the opening with a hiss of defeat, relief reverberating through her bruised wrist. She moved her hands back to the mesh, twisting it in a hard grip, and tried to face west. Then, thoughtlessly, she sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a drawn out scream that raised the fine hairs on her arms. The scream died down and she choked, gasping for another breath. She sucked again and opened her mouth for another round, only to freeze when something rustled the shrubbery that bordered the rocks.

Going cold, she squinted into the darkness and strained her ears. But there were too many noises. She couldn't pinpoint anything useful. And beyond the shrubbery was the pitch obsidian abyss of the trees. The falls were far into the thick deepness of forest and the only reason she could see at all was because the clearing in the trees due to the river gave the moon room to reach down. But at the line of the woods, she might as well have been blind.

But the alert prickle of danger rippled through her and—shivering beneath its touch—she knew for certain that she had to escape. She also knew that she didn't have much time, so if she was going to figure her way out of this, she needed to come up with something _now_.

_Let me,_ whispered that stranger-like voice in the recesses of her mind.

Elena shuddered at the sound's caress, but fisted her hands in the mesh and steeled herself. Screwing her eyes shut, she conjured up a dark room within her mind's eye, ethereal and unreal—like a shimmering mirage. She willed the voice to take shape, but there was nothing but undefined shadows around her. Anyway, she wouldn't even know where to start. It sounded like her, but it was something different altogether. She couldn't imagine what it'd look like, and she didn't want it taking on her face. Even if it was just in her imagination—in the very literal sense of the word, that is.

_No time to waste, sister. Let me help,_ it urged deeply. And even before it faded back into silence, something inside Elena clicked with understanding.

The voice wasn't a stranger, she realized. It wasn't her, either. And she hadn't lost her mind. This was the wolf—the part of her that had been growing all month long, manifesting and shifting Elena into a dual being. Two souls twined as one. The voice . . . _it's my wolf._

_Yes,_ sister wolf purred encouragingly.

"Okay," she said aloud. "Okay." Elena drew in a shuddery breath and locked her jaw. She'd deal with the repercussions of this new—split-personality—development later. Ignoring all the hesitations and panicky feelings that brewed deep inside of her, she concentrated on _here and now_, shoving everything else aside.

_How?_ she thought desperately, her mind's voice edged between hopelessness and determination. _We're trapped._

A rumbling snarl arouse from sister wolf, arching Elena's spine. _Not trapped,_ sister wolf hissed. _In danger, yes . . . so let me help us._

The decision was simple. _How?_

_Accept me,_ she purred. _Welcome me willingly._

_Like last night?_ Elena accused. All she could think of was that devouring fire. It had eaten away at her, trying to burn her alive and swallow her whole until nothing of who she was remained. She never wanted to feel that way again.

_No, _sister wolf cut in. _It does not have to be unpleasant, only if you fight against it as you did before. Let me in and I will come gently. No pain, only ascension._

_Let you in?_ Elena balked, screwing her face up. _You're a voice in my head,_ she snapped. Though, admittedly, she _knew_ it went so much deeper than that. _Let you into what? You're already in!_

_No,_ sister wolf bit out impatiently, and Elena felt that irritated urgency rankling at the nape of her neck as if it were her own. If she had a furry scruff, it would be spiked. _The change will happen soon whether you struggle or welcome it. But will it be in time?_

_Explain,_ she demanded hurriedly, gripping at the mesh as a shift in her weight swayed the net farther out.

_Accept us as one, and I will be able to help._

_You mean you'll have control?_ Elena countered sharply, distrust rising—then ebbing just as quickly. There was an innate affinity with the wolf that she couldn't deny. It was a part of her—she just couldn't bring herself to doubt it as trustworthy. It wasn't some outside evil with insidious plans and trickery. Essentially, they were one. It would never—could never—hurt her. Still, the idea of handing over the reins under any circumstance was . . . daunting.

_Or we can stay netted and defenseless,_ sister wolf said dryly. _It is your choice. But you are only delaying the inevitable, and endangering us unnecessarily. Stubbornness is not always the wisest shield, you know._

_Oh, just shut up . . . _Elena opened, shut, opened then closed her eyes again as she drilled her breathing into a steady rhythm and worked to loosen that tightly wound control. The logical part of her brain was bogged down with questions that had no answers—like how and . . . well, _how_—but she didn't have the time to fester over it, because a deeper, more profound part of herself was driven by instinct.

It happened so quickly that a bit of her was left reeling. Her guard slipped down and she thrust outward an invitation, like arms held wide open. And the tidal wave that greeted her was like a rushing breath of relief that submerged her. Warmth and content and acceptance and peace licked through every molecule of her being. She'd have sunken to her knees then with the overwhelming relief and pleasure of it if there hadn't been that prickling essence that stretched out inside of her, taking her into its arms, supporting her body and soul.

And it was that simple, she found out belatedly. The choice of acceptance and they'd coalesced into a united being—Elena all the stronger for it. All that turmoil was gone, replaced by a sureness that gave her confidence, hell, gave her contentment. It wasn't until this moment that she realized just how exhausted she had been spending all of that time fighting herself.

_Yes,_ sister wolf purred in darkly pleased musical tones that stroked along Elena's skin like a solid pat on the head. She might as well have said _good girl_. Not that Elena cared, not as her eyes fluttered downward and her head fell back, lips parting and body stretching languidly under the moon's soothing light. _Now, let's get out of here, shall we?_

_Yes,_ Elena sighed eagerly. Her hands flexed around the mesh. With sister wolf's driving force urging her on, Elena took in deep inhale, testing all the various scents carried on the night's wind, sorting and deciphering and filing away. She drew her body up and curled a hand around the drawstring of the net above her head. Then she pulled her legs up backward, pressing her heels into the small of her back and forcing the weight of her body on that one arm.

When the net tried to contract up toward her at the loss of conflicting pressure, she fisted her free hand in the mesh, clumping the ropes together. Then she drew it up to her mouth, even as the confines strained against the shape of her body. With one viciously efficient motion, she clamped down on the bundle, feeling it grind pleasantly between her blunt teeth, and jerked her head sideways against the hold of her two-ended grip—teeth against fist.

The mesh's binding gave out with a sharp rip that tore through the seam of the weave and turned her cage into a bottomless tapestry. The suddenness nearly made her slacken her hold on the drawstring top, which was the only thing keeping her now from plummeting to that rocky underwater death.

Taking a steadying breath, Elena flexed her arm experimentally, using the burning muscles in her triceps to leverage herself higher, even as she twisted her ankles together and dug them into her back. Once she was mollified enough that her body wouldn't give out on her, she untangled her other hand from the now loose netting and fumbled it along the rope, looking for spots that would support her and weren't frayed from the tear.

A sharp gust of wind arouse, knocking the net sideways. The resultant swing as she dangled inside it threatened to flip her stomach, even as another part of her—the wolf—luxuriated in the thrill. She'd been wrong, though. It wasn't like someone else had possessed her body, and was controlling her. It wasn't like that at all. It was . . . liberation.

_Hurry_, sister wolf urged.

Back to business, Elena got a solid grip on a clump of rope lower in the netting and switched supporting arms with an abrupt _snap_, jolting herself as the transferred weight rippled from one side of her body to the other. She swung one way for a moment more before she found another hold and switched again. She kept going—twice, thrice—until she was hanging from the very bottom of the net, no longer caged by its rope but dangling freely below it. That was worse on her stomach, but she swallowed down any hesitation and focused on her task at hand.

The ledge wasn't that far a distance—certainly reachable—but at her current level, it was higher than she was. And the jagged face of the cliff beside the waterfall did not look climbable. _Somehow_, she thought wryly.

_Use your momentum_, sister wolf told her.

"Right," she said breathlessly, already tightening her now two-handed grip on the rope and uncurling her legs until her body was completely straightened. She eased into the motion, using her body as a tool to get the net swaying in the direction she needed. Moving like a slow-motion mermaid in ocean, Elena managed to get up into a swinging rhythm that had her practically knocking into the rock. She waited for the right moment, holding tightly to her patience instead of grasping haphazardly for the cliff. She kept her legs just outside contact with the rock as she surged back and forth, modulating her sways as momentum grew.

The burn in her muscles was not nearly as debilitating as it should have been, as it would have been were she still human. And the night's chilly breeze brushed against her skin, soothing the minor aches and strain.

Suddenly, her panting hitched as urgency—to the point of panic—strangled her. Her time was running out. She just _knew_, and sister wolf agreed. They couldn't wait any longer. It was now or never.

Elena's bare feet collided with the jagged rock of the cliff's face, and the control of her slightly bent, angled, locked knees took on most of the impact. Even as she made contact, she was shoving off, pivoting with her knees and her heels and curling her elbows to take her body higher. She raced backward at the strength of her push-off, and as she flew back toward the cliff, Elena gave a good tug at the net, lifted her lower half upward and out, and used the momentum to take her beyond the ledge. Only when she felt her body slide against the sharp bed of rock atop the cliff did she release her grip on the ropes.

Panting and stinging and burning, Elena rested on her back and struggled to get a grip on the exhilaration rushing through her. The solidity of the rock beneath her—slick with water from the rapids—soothed enough of the panic to let her ease there for a moment. But only one moment, and then she was rolling onto her stomach and pivoting up to her feet, ready to escape.

Even with this exertion still rattling through her, she could run at a flat-out speed for at least five miles before she could go no further. Not that she intended on running five miles. Though, come to think of it, this side of the falls was pretty far out into the woods. It was a long way to a road that would take her anywhere.

Feeling a bit shaky despite the wolf's steadiness, Elena turned and padded carefully to look out over the wet ledge. She whistled quietly to herself at the sight. It was hell of a long way down. Maybe if she let the waterfall carry her, it wouldn't end so badly, because directly below the falls was a cavernous pit in the rocky floor of water. But from where she'd been hanging in that net . . . she'd have been minced meat.

_Time to go_, sister wolf announced calmly, but Elena could feel the rising dread of premonition. What the wolf meant was: _it's time to run now_.

Obliging herself, Elena took a step back, and then spun when her footing slipped and she almost went down. Once she'd caught herself, she let out a shaky laugh of embarrassment. "It's really slick."

_Quite understandable_, sister wolf drawled.

Elena frowned at the blatant sarcasm. "Now you're sounding like Damon," she groused, carefully making her way across the rock as she headed toward the safe soil of the line of surrounding trees. "And from now on, I have to remember to only talk to you in my head, because this talking aloud to myself thing is going to get me into trouble pretty fast."

_That would be wise._

Elena let out a dry laugh and shook her head, just then reaching the end of the slippery rocks. The cool softness of dirt and grass against the abused flats of her feet made her sigh. _Now, where do we go?_

_That way,_ sister wolf hissed.

Elena found her eyes pulling to the east of the falls. She had to cross over the rapids in order to go that way, which made her stop and look dubious. _Are you sure?_

_Absolutely, just find a narrow spot and leap across. It's alright. But we must go now. He's nearing from the west._

Startled, Elena spun in a tight circle, looking around with wide eyes. "Who is?"

_Just go now._

_I'm going, I'm going,_ she grumbled as she made her way further down the river, away from the waterfall.

She had just found a suitable spot to cross over when the distinct sound of a shoe cracking a twig beneath its weight echoed through her ears, freezing her in her place. An icy touch rippled through her limbs, even as the wolf inside drew back her lips and snarled warningly.

"Uh, uh, uh," a familiar voice called from the shadows behind her. "Where do you think you're going?"

The wolf knew even before she turned around, but Elena had to actually find him with her eyes before she could be certain it was who she thought it was. "Alaric . . ." she said in a dangerously low voice. The partly unreasonable sensation of betrayal stabbed into her, and the wolf's anger reared up. She _trusted_ him. And he'd proved himself unworthy of it.

Before she even knew what was happening, Elena had lunged for him—the wolf driving her forward in an irrational need for vengeance. His betrayal didn't warrant the intensity that was rippling through her. After all, they weren't close. But even so, she was in the air and going at him before she could stop herself.

He was braced for her though, and the impact of their collision rattled her bones and sent them spiraling backward, landing feet away with his back to the leaf-covered ground and her atop, going for his throat. If the haze of instinct hadn't been so thick, Elena would have been shocked at herself. But this was a vampire beneath her, and the wolf had known even before she'd launched herself at him that he would not be such an easy kill.

There was a flurry of motion and sensation before the haze lifted, and the next thing Elena was fully aware of was the dull pain of her back slapping into the ground with force enough to break her spine. Not that it did the damage it should have, that it would have if she'd still been human.

She blinked, willing her vision to clear until she could make out the inky sky that peeked through the crevices of the treetops above her. A shift of movement drew her attention to the side, but before she could leap to her feet, a sharp stinging sensation washed through her system—almost exactly that of an electric shock. She yelped, flinching upward and away from the source of the pain, but it was too late. Her wrists were bound in cold metal. Manacles, the human mind realized, even as all the wolf could see was _silver_.

"Everything has its weakness, Elena." Alaric's steady—if not a bit strained and, weirdly, nasal—voice filled her ears, jerking her attention upward, where she found him clambering to his feet and backing away, disheveled and torn. "With us vampires, it is the vervain. With you wolves, it's silver. Among other things," he muttered.

Alaric swiped the back of his hand along his upper lip, catching the blood that trickled down from the deformed bridge of his nose. It'd been broken. She watched oddly as he gave it a sharp snap and the bone clicked back into place, mending itself almost instantly.

His dark hazel eyes were cool and detached, determined but not unkind.

She tried to concentrate, straining for her next move, but the wolf was howling irrationally inside of her at the burn of the silver. It was distracting to say the least. "Why would you do this?" she demanded, scooting in the foliage and damp soil until her back hit the base of an old elm tree.

The heavy sonorous noise of the rushing water still drummed against her sensitive hearing.

He shook his head and crouched down until they were level. "If you had stayed put in that net, you would be in no danger." He paused, giving her a thoughtful onceover with his eyes. "I never intended for you to get hurt. And you won't again, if it can be helped."

And then, all at once, she understood. Of course, why hadn't it occurred to her earlier? He was hunting his wife's killer. And by confirming his suspicions about her this morning, she'd handed herself over on a shiny platter.

"Just take it easy, and this will all be over soon. There's a reason he wants you. When he comes for you, it won't be to kill you. If you don't get in the way, you'll be fine," he insisted, trying to soothe her.

Elena narrowed her eyes on him and curled her lip. "Yes," she drawled nastily, the sarcasm dripping like knives, "because the _bait_ in this situation always turns out intact."

He opened his mouth, paused, and all at once the world stilled. The wolf's raging had quieted—_she knew first_—but Elena just now noticed. Heads cocked, the three of them listened—vampire, wolf and girl—and waited.

_He's coming_, sister wolf told her. _My maker_ . . . and Elena quaked as she noted the unhappiness in her wolf's tone. Not quite fear, but close enough to have her heart galloping within the claustrophobic confines of her chest.

She listened to the approaching beast, which was coming at them from the east at a terror-inducing pace of lazy ease, and sat frozen while Alaric blurred, appeared before her, and looped a chain around the tree she was leaning on. She only jolted when he latched the chain to the silver manacles around her wrists. And just like that, she'd allowed herself to be caged again—this time beneath the burn of silver, tethered to an ancient elm. She was _trapped_.

The wolf didn't even stir. In fact, she'd faded so immensely until Elena could barely even sense her lingering presence. _This isn't good_, she thought as the dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. Have to get out of here . . . have to get free . . . have to run. She was on her feet and tugging uselessly at her bindings, wriggling and jerking as she backed away as far as she was allowed and strained against the metal.

Alaric had disappeared; she was alone now and totally panicking like it was going out of style. Her struggles were useless, the silver made her too weak to even break through the chain that held her to the tree, never mind free herself from her shackles. How was she supposed to defend herself like this? From that _thing_ . . . memories of the night of the attack came rushing back, carrying her into a panic attack that had her on her knees before she could avoid it. She suddenly couldn't remember how to breathe, or swallow, or breathe. She couldn't suck in any air because she couldn't remember how to.

She saw the car rolling, a sharp flash of metal that she couldn't comprehend until it was plowing into her. Pinned, the jagged metal going through skin, digging into bone, the shattered glass around her, the sight of the bloody mangle of woman smashed behind the steering wheel as she hung upside, the rising steam in the night air, the gleaming platinum of the monster's eyes, the feel of its snout rubbing against her bloody sternum, its teeth sinking into her, and her own ragged screams surrounded her.

Then, just as suddenly, she was back in the present—bound to a tree, alone in the dark, going still and terrified as the beast that had haunted her nightmares coalesced from shadow into a solid reality. Its massive body leapt fluidly through air as it crossed over the restless rapids. Its paws—the size of her head—landed on rock with a dull _thud_, and then it was padding toward her . . . stalking her.

_Damon_ . . . she thought with a broken sob. _Stefan_. Someone . . . God, please.

Still on her knees, Elena watched as the beast prowled nearer, taking his time at her vivid expense. And through that helpless fear, all she could think of was her vampires. Would they find her? Would they come? Of course, but there was no more time. They couldn't save her. She was . . . she was . . . _I love you both_, she thought fiercely, screwing her wet eyes shut and taking in a deep breath. _So much it hurts, I love you. I'm so sorry._

The cold-eyed beast stepped so close she could feel his fetid breath brush hotly against her tear-stained cheek. Vibrations of guttural sound reverberated through his massive chest, up his quavering throat, and shot tingles through her body. And in reaction, Elena felt her wolf rear up suddenly with a vicious, visceral, _no holds barred_ growl that almost sent her reeling.

The beast backpedalled lazily, eyeing her with a curious tilt to his head. But she was beyond him now. The brush of heady magic ran along her skin, seeping in and twisting up in her innards until she was breathless with it. An ethereal shimmer skimmed along the surface of her body, swallowing her up in its glow. It was peaceful and invigorating, until it reached down her arms and met with silver cuffs.

The most intense fiery feeling of agony enveloped her, lashing out, and tore a raw banshee scream from her throat. But before that fire could devour her, the beast leapt forward and clamped his mouth down on the silver of her manacles, fang brushing skin and drawing blood. And then the cool metal of the silver fell away and she collapsed into the rich soil and damp foliage of the ground, writhing in aftershocks of that fiery agony even as the glow of magic brushed outward again, licking the memory of pain away and swaddling her in tingling warmth.

Just as suddenly as it had come upon her, that brush of magic faded and Elena found herself in a foreign form. Not entirely unpleasant, but definitely startling.

Elena uncurled from a ball and rose tentatively on shaky limbs . . . four of them. When she arched her spine, stretching experimentally, she found herself in a strange shape, muscles and joints in the wrong places, limbs and spine at the wrong angles. Four black-gloved paws, a sleek muzzle of white tipped with a slick black snout, and a _tail!_ Of all the freaky moments of her life, this definitely topped the charts. She was . . . she was . . . a wolf. Not like the wolf inside of her, which was a part of her, which was congruent. But a real wolf, physical and furry!

"Jesus Christ," she exclaimed. Or she tried to anyway, but when she opened her mouth, she found that her jaw wasn't exactly designed for speaking. Her tongue was too long and her teeth too sharp and pointy. She tried to close her mouth the way she would've in human form, and ended up biting down along the sides of her tongue so hard it startled a high-pitched yip from her.

Before she could go on adjusting, Elena was disrupted by a gravelly yowl that raised her hackles as it echoed through the woods, startling owls and other night aves out of the trees above. The thick fur of her scruff ruffled into spikes as she spun to face the noise, finding the beast still lingering, watching her intensely.

Hunkering down into a crouch, her lips pulled away from her teeth and she growled warningly—an "_I mean business"_ sound that would have taken Elena aback if the wolf hadn't been in complete control. She knew, because there was a deeply innate urge inside of her to roll onto her back, exposing the vulnerable space of her underside, and submit to the one that made her. His dominance trickled along her fur-coated flesh in sheer power, sticking to her like cobweb. But she wouldn't bow to him. Not because she didn't want to, but because her first _need_ was to protect herself, to protect the _Elena_ part of herself, and Elena's terror for this beast was enough for the wolf soul to beat back the instinctive urge to crawl to him.

The wind rustled through his matte-brown wiry pelt and the beast laid a heavy paw on the ground, slanting toward her with an amused glint in his cold eyes. Elena's wolf hedged backward—still crouched, still growling, still ready to attack if need be, even though her heart hammered almost painfully in her chest with fear and reluctance and protective rage. But before he had a chance to close in on her, they were interrupted.

Alaric pierced through the shadows of the night, dropping down from a high perch in a tree up above them like some swooping dark angel. The glint of a silver dagger grasped in his hand caught her eye maybe half a second before the beast deftly rolled out of his path. Alaric flipped midair, just in time to land solidly on his feet where the beast had just been instead of tackling the monster to the ground like he'd intended.

Elena's wolf spared no indecisive hesitation before she pivoted around and sprinted out of the way of their ensuing struggle. When she landed on the other side of the river, she swiveled around and coiled again, ready to pounce at a moment's notice if need be as she watched the blur of violent motion.

Alaric was swift and graceful and faster than anything Elena had ever seen—Damon and Stefan included. His movements were quick and efficient, liquid smooth and precise. But the beast was vicious. It had a strong jaw full of razor-sharp fangs and claws like talons. Its hulking size did nothing to quell the quick grace of him as he dodged each of Alaric's thrusts of the dagger. It took only a few moments of observing for Elena's wolf to see clearly that though Alaric was impressive, the beast was only toying with him, like a cat that had its mouse cornered with no hope or worry of escape.

She should run while she had the chance, while they were both distracted, and she would have too. Only Elena kept her in her place, unable to just turn and leave with this peril laid out in front of her. Alaric may have betrayed her, but she could understand his motivations, and more than anything she wanted him to succeed. She _needed_ him to succeed. She couldn't just leave, not yet. And even her wolf's survival instincts could not overwhelm that.

On the other side of the river, the beast lashed out, swiping a gigantic paw at exactly the right moment as Alaric jabbed the blade just a millisecond too late. Razors slashed across the vampire's face, four slashes that gouged all the way down to the bone and took out his right eye along the way. Another swipe sent him flying through the air until he smashed into an oak, cracking the trunk of the tree before his prone body slithered to the ground.

_Time to go_, sister wolf demanded. But before she could take even her first sprinting step of retreat, Elena surged to the forefront and sent her wolf form—small padded paws and silky snow-white pelt with ebony undertones and ice blue eyes as clear as the Caribbean Sea—propelling across the river and landing smoothly within the perimeter of the fray.

Putting herself in the way, she spread her feet—all four of them—and coiled, ready to pounce. Her hind legs pressed into the lifeless vampire's body as she stood between him and the smug beast, pulling her lips back and snarling at him. As pissed at Alaric as she was right now, as petrified of this monster as she felt, she just couldn't run away. Aunt Jenna was in love—or the closest thing to it—she knew undoubtedly. And damned if she was going to stand by and let this gruesome bastard shred him into itty bitty vampire pieces, no matter whether Alaric deserved it or not.

_Out of my way, little one_, a raspy male voice echoed hollowly through her mind. The beast cocked his head to the side, upright ears drawn back against his head and lip curled. The saliva dripping from his tensed jaw slithered through the enormous blades that were pretending to be his teeth. He took a step closer and instead of quaking—like she wanted to—Elena growled, muscles bunching in anticipation.

_Make me_, she sneered fiercely, not even sure whether he could hear her or not.

But the indignant shock that flashed in his gleaming eyes told her everything she needed to know. He heard her, all right. And he couldn't believe her audacity, or her idiocy. _Out of my way, I said, you stupid bitch_!

Sister wolf—disapproving and aggravated—reared back up. The girl and her wolf mingled, showing a united front. When he swiped out a paw to brush her aside, much like he'd done with the vampire, she ducked and swerved the strike, even as she followed its path, snapping at him with pronged fangs.

_I'm quick_, Elena realized with a pleasant shock. Quicker than him, and quicker than the vampire had been, and that made her realize that there was a lot about this new form that she had yet to discover. She was small in size, maybe large for a normal wolf, but so tiny in comparison to this massive monster. She felt stronger than she should be, strong and fluid and dangerous. But she was delicate beneath this beast's strength and mass. If he caught her with a hit, he'd shatter bone.

How was she supposed to evade his attacks? When she couldn't move from her protective crouch in front of the vampire, who was only now beginning to stir the slightest bit . . .

_Damn you, little bitch! You WILL listen to me,_ he bellowed. The fury alight in his eyes made them glow, feral and frightening. He straightened out, bringing himself to his full height, which would have been quite a few heads taller than her had she been in human form still. As wolf, it damn near made her cower. Only her own wolf's protective rage kept her from it, holding her firm beneath his fury.

She felt his power—that lycan aura of dominance and suffocating energy—lash out and try to strangle her into submission. But she did not yield. She lifted her chin and bent the elbows of her forelegs in a defensive posture.

Wolf was more willing and ready than girl to go down fighting, but since Elena was the one that had gotten them into this, she couldn't very well lose her backbone now. So she shoved aside that terror and rising despair, even as a core part of herself was still weeping with the urge to call out, still waiting both hopelessly and relentlessly for her protectors to come and rescue her. Whereas, the realistic part of Elena and her wolf soul knew not to hold her breath for that _deus__ ex __machina_.

And as if by magic, as soon as she thought of them, that familiar tingle and tug roiled to life down-low in the core of her being, awareness skirting up her wolf's spine, telling her everything she ever needed to know.

She didn't relax, but a deep part of herself grabbed at the relief and wrapped it tightly around her. The despair faded and the fire of fight stoked her spirits. Bristled and standing tall, Elena waited for the beast to realize they were coming for her. But he was so enraged with her that he noticed _nothing_.

_Soon_, she whispered softly to sister wolf, a smile touching lips. They were close, her loves, and getting closer with every second that ticked by. All she had to do was stall. But her wolf knew that was a stupid thing to think. He was beyond reason now, so alight with his psychotic fury. There was no stalling him now. There was only evading and surviving. But how to do that when she couldn't risk giving him a route to reach the vampire she shielded.

_Not a problem_, sister wolf drawled in a tight voice._ He's forgotten all about the vampire. He's too busy thinking up ways to teach us a lesson, to show us how to behave._

_He wants us to submit to him,_ Elena agreed.

_More than anything_, sister wolf murmured. _We'll draw him away from the wounded vampire. We'll distract him._

_No . . . the boys will be here soon, and then everything will be okay. Just—_

_No time. _And with that, she leapt.

Soaring sleekly through air, even as she saw it in his eyes—how this was exactly what he wanted, what he'd been waiting for—she feigned going for his throat. Then at the last second, when he darted to evade, she redirected her lunge and landed lightly on the other side of him. Before he could whirl on her, she leapt again, darting around until she had him chasing her, headed away from Alaric.

She leapt over the river—rapids splashing up to soak her belly—and he followed. She wound around a humongous maple tree, and when he went forward, muzzle and teeth reaching for her, she spun and dived under his front paws, rolling along his towering underside, until she came out behind him and sprinted away.

Leaping back across the wide passage of water with her heartbeat going wild and the exhilaration mingling almost euphorically with the fear, she weaved deftly around forestry, playing with him as he'd played with Alaric, glorying in the steady infuriation she built in him with her antics—infuriation that made him sloppy and senseless with burning rage. He lunged for her hind leg and she pivoted sideways into the air, hit a nearby trunk with her paws, and sprung off it to land behind him.

In fury, he lashed out with a roar, claws shredding the base of the tree until it nearly toppled over. Then he turned around to face her, his ragged breathing going calm and his eyes piercing into her unnervingly. She'd barely recognized the coiling of his brawny muscles before he'd lunged—but not at her.

With a noise that was part frustration, part fear, and part fury, Elena leapt after him, racing back to where they'd left the fallen vampire. He made it there before her, and Alaric would have been dead . . . if he'd still been where they'd left him. But he wasn't. The ground where he'd collapsed was bloodied and sunken, but empty.

A second later, the beast reared on Elena. And this time . . . she wasn't quick enough, because he'd tricked her into dodging directly into his assault. The hulking monstrosity hit her from the side, crushing her ribs inward as he pummeled her to the ground with the bulk of his sinewy body. A wet yelp ripped from her throat as she was pinned down between the ground and the beast. One of his paws had landed directly on her left foreleg, and bone _crunched_ audibly.

The pain exploded in the form of fireworks dancing through her vision even as it tunneled and the darkness threatened to sweep her up. She fought to stay aware, but she couldn't bring herself to move an inch, even to slip out from under him. Setting her head down into the crispy leaves beneath her, she whimpered quietly as defeat rippled through her.

The beast reared his head back and pulled his lips up from his teeth in a triumphant expression, dominating over her like Lord and Master. The smugness of him was almost enough to have her orneriness resurging. Almost. The pain was just too intense. She whimpered again, despite her best efforts to keep quiet, and her maker dipped his head down and clamped his mouth over the length of her muzzle. He didn't bite down. It was just enough of a nip to humiliate her, a way of saying who was boss.

Her eyes narrowed up at him. As he pulled away, she gathered her strength, damn well _determined_ to bite back—but it happened so quickly, before she had the chance to rally herself. The beast yowled in pain and rage, whipping upward like a spooked horse. She just barely managed to roll out from under before his paws came back down to trample her. She was up on her feet in the next second, despite the white-hot pain stabbing through her sternum, with her wounded foreleg held up in a pitiful curl.

Alaric was back, she saw. Almost completely healed, and his silver dagger was protruding out from the top of the beast's spine. Weaponless now, he went in again for the kill, and just as swiftly as he'd returned, he was knocked across the woods, slammed into another tree, and back down for the count.

Her wolf gave a raspy growl of frustration. _Now can we run?_

_No. _Elena gathered her courage and somehow managed to dart around the raging monstrosity on three legs and reach Alaric's side. He was just pushing up onto his hands and knees—not looking in particularly good shape—when she got to him, brushing herself against his shoulder and nudging him with the tip of her nose. His hand fell heavily down onto her scruff in response, even as he rasped for air. It sounded like a rib had punctured one of his lungs. But did vampires even need to breathe?

She rounded until she had her hip pressed reassuringly against him as she faced the beast, watching as the wiry-haired lycan thundered and writhed around himself, fumbling manically as he tried and failed to get to the blade in his back. He was stumbling fiercely around on his hind legs, almost completely upright as if he were a man and not the four-legged beast he claimed to be.

Frightened, a bit bewildered, very dumbfounded, Elena had just readopted her defensive stance—with her fangs pointed at the lycan and her back to the recovering vampire—when someone landed right beside her with a solid _thud_ of shoe meeting earth after a long journey of air. She lifted her head, snarling instinctively even though the fire in her chest told her exactly who it was.

Damon pulled back a step, wary and uncertain as his bright emerald eyes raked over her. "Elena?" he asked, suspecting but not quite believing it was really her.

She hid her fangs and quieted the rumbling of her growls, dipping her head down then back up once for him. Reassured, he let a hand fall onto the crown of her head, fingers stroking silky fur as he angled himself half beside and half in front of her and bent his knees into a defensive crouch the second his eyes turned to the beast, who'd just managed to get a grip on the buried hilt of the dagger and was now trying to spear it out of himself from the wrong angle, ripping it across his spine and deeper into matted flesh in the process.

Behind the beast, her eyes found Stefan as he lurked in the shadow. They had him boxed in now. Four against one, her wolf liked those odds. She liked them a lot.

Damon glanced over his shoulder when Alaric used the tree he'd collided with to pull himself to his feet, still wheezing a bit. She watched her love's eyes harden into that shuttered ruthlessness that came over him whenever he was about to snap someone's neck. "I'll deal with you later," he warned in a dangerously quiet voice.

Alaric hacked, swiped at his bloody mouth, and then straightened with dignity. He said nothing, only turned his attention toward the beast as the thing flung the sizzling silver blade away from him with disgust.

When he turned his gleaming silver eyes toward them, Elena felt herself bristle with the need for blood. She took a step forward, slanting a foreleg in front of Damon possessively and baring her teeth at the big stupid lycan. _Mine_, she thought fiercely, daring him to come near them. She'd rip his throat out.

It wasn't until a split-second later that she realized she'd put weight onto her shattered leg, and hadn't even noticed, because it wasn't shattered any longer. It was completely healed, good as new. _Huh_, she thought. _Well, that's just nifty_.

The beast gave a jerky shake of his oddly-shaped skull, then when his attention refocused on his surroundings, his eye landed on the three of them and his head cocked. She could practically see the smirk growing in his stare.

_I see,_ his eerily cool voice whispered through her, setting her teeth on edge. She knew that look—that _"I've got an idea and it's going to thoroughly devastate you"_ look. Damon taught it to her, long before this creep came along. Her scruff ruffled at that look and another growl rumbled up from her chest.

_Just try me_, her growl said loud and clear.

"Shh," Damon hushed her chidingly, his fingers twisting in her fur.

Narrowing her eyes, she bumped his hip with her shoulder but left it at that. To glare at him, she'd have to take her eyes off the beast, and her wolf knew that that would be acknowledging his dominance.

Back down on all fours, the beast stalked toward them, careful and measuring, keeping just out of reach as he semi-circled them.

Elena felt Alaric's denim-clad thigh brush against her side as he flanked her, opposite Damon. Her eyes yearned to search again for Stefan, who had faded back into the shadows, but she didn't want to draw attention to him, so she resisted.

When the beast got a little too close, she started for him—emboldened by Damon at her side. But when he tugged sternly on the fur he still held, she stilled, glancing unhappily up at him. He didn't bother taking his gaze off the beast as he told her, "You stay back. I don't care what happens. You stay out of it."

Rolling her tongue, she gave him an incredulous snort and her shoulders went rigid. His fingers twisted almost painfully and she nipped at his hip in retaliation, stepping on his foot while the beast teased Alaric from the other side. But when she looked up at him, she found Damon's eyes piercing into her. They widened, pupils dilating significantly, and then rolled upward in the direction of east, across the rapids. She frowned, but he looked back at her, catching her attention, and repeated the action. What in the world was he trying to tell her? Certainly, he didn't think she'd run away and leave them here, did he? No, he knew her better than that. But then, what was he trying to communicate?

She was still pondering that when the beast made his move, going first for Alaric, making him swerve away from the slash of claws, which got him out of the way. Instantly—not even interested in following through with that attack—the beast leapt for Elena, knowing it would draw Damon into the offensive.

She rolled swiftly out of the way as Damon rounded her wolf form and met the lunging beast head-on. The impact knocked them sideways into the thick trunk of an oak, shattering the tree into pieces as they went right through it. The top half of the tree tipped, careening downward to crash across the rapids, sending icy freshwater raining down over them all. Unfortunately, Damon was more dazed by the crash than the beast, and he was up and coming for her after just a few seconds of stumbling and head-shaking.

The driving _need_ in her was to check on Damon, but that wouldn't help anyone. Still, Elena was torn, so it was her wolf that propelled them into action, darting up onto the fallen tree and dancing across it with light steps quicker than lightning. She headed in the direction Damon had demanded, having absolutely no clue why or what she'd do, and the beast followed.

Every time he'd gain an inch, she'd discover that this wolf form of hers could be pushed just a bit quicker.

Acres behind her now, Damon pushed himself up to his feet, ignoring Alaric's proffered hand. "I assume you've got a plan?" he asked mildly, every cell in his body aching to take pursuit of the creature. But he'd seen it in action, almost been killed twice by it in the last half hour. He knew better than to charge after it without regrouping. He needed help.

Rolling his shoulders and cricking his neck, Damon tugged once at the lapels of his leather jacket even as he brushed by the other vamp and took off after Elena and the lycan.

Elena had sprinted maybe a mile and a quarter before she'd finally figured out what she was doing—what Damon had meant. It was when the unmistakable scent of dark vanilla and sage assailed her olfactory senses that it all clicked into place. The aroma was unmistakable. _Bonnie_. And had she been in human form, Elena would have smiled.

_The plan_, she remembered as a fresh burst of energy rejuvenated her speed. Not that she had any interest in helping this monster anymore. But killing him, obviously, wouldn't be an easy feat.

Focusing, her newly improved eyesight searched the darkness, and kept searching as she ran toward her friend's scent, until finally she spotted what she was looking for. The etchings in the ground were faint but recognizable. And at the sight of them, Elena shifted direction, drawing the beast with her into the circle of the pentagram.

Still sprinting, she sprung off the base of a pine tree and landed facing him, even as he skidded abruptly to a halt just on the inside of the boundary to avoid crashing into her. His jaw dropped open into a smug smile, thinking he had her now.

"_Ambitus signum orbis_," Bonnie chanted, eliciting a rush of air to rise up from the etched symbol and dome upward and over, enclosing. Elena leapt backwards, narrowly avoiding the sizzle of magical encasement that nearly singed the tip of her tail on her way out.

The beast howled up into the night, his eyes blazing. And even though she had complete faith in her friend's witchcraft, Elena hurried to Bonnie's side the second the witch stepped out of her hiding spot and into the open, and put herself between the entrapped lycan and her friend. Bonnie flinched away and Elena hesitated, cocking her head to the side and staring up into her friend's hazel eyes, which still glinted with power.

Bonnie's brow furrowed. "_Elena_? Is that you?"

She bobbed her head once, then turned and focused her attention on the beast, which was raging once again, throwing himself bodily against the invisible barrier that kept him caged. She watched warily as he continued relentlessly smashing himself against the magic, each impact making a shimmery wave ripple through the air, like drawing a fingertip over placid water.

Two more hits and Bonnie slanted, bumping heavily at the waist into the white wolf's side as if she'd stumbled under her own weight. Elena looked up into her friend's face again, even as her ears pricked at the sound of the others closing in from different directions. Bonnie's heart-shaped face looked sallow and sunken, even through the sepia-tinted vision of the wolf's eyes. She watched, disconcerted, as the energy drained from the witch and was fed into the pulsating barrier.

The second Stefan appeared, coming up behind Bonnie, Elena whined to grab his attention, then scuffed the ground and pawed gently at Bonnie's leg—enough to convey her concern. Frowning, Stefan reached for Bonnie's shoulder. Just then, the beast pounded against the barrier again, and Bonnie's knees gave out. Stefan easily hooked his hands around her underarms, keeping her from hitting the ground. Her head dropped against his chest, and her dark-lashed eyes fluttered weakly. And still, the energy kept flowing from her, feeding the pentagram.

If this kept on, it'd kill her.

The wolf's head whipped toward her maker, and she let out a sonorous growl of warning. _Stop that or I'll tear your throat out_, her growl told him.

Alaric and his glinting silver dagger appeared on the opposite side of the boundary. He stopped just shy of the etching in the ground and his eyes—gone red and inky with bloodlust and violence—followed the hulking beast with smoldering intention. Damon appeared on the third side of the circle, nearest to Elena. He was a bit disheveled, but otherwise no worse for wear. Her relief, though, was thwarted by her worry for Bonnie.

Stefan took the witch and spun them, then gently lowered her onto the ground and propped her up against a young beech tree. When he pulled away, she fisted her hands at her thighs and her concentration doubled. He moved to take up the fourth end of the circle. The beast was completely surrounded now, and Elena and her wolf reveled in the realization that unfurled in his gleaming eyes, making him falter. He was boxed in by predators just as if not _more_ dangerous than he was, and he knew it, too. She watched a decision form in his eyes, and then he hurled himself again at the barrier, ripping a ragged moan from Bonnie.

This had to stop.

Without bothering to check with the others, Elena prowled forward, bringing herself within a hairsbreadth of the shimmery cage of magic. Then, she hunkered down on all fours and drew back her lips, quiet as could be and deadly focused on her prey. The world seemed to blur out of focus and go still for a long moment . . . and then it crashed back into action.

First, the beast flung himself against the barrier one last time, shimmers rippling outward and exploding in a flash of bright white light. Bonnie cried out behind her as the circle gave, imploding with the sucking energy of a vacuum before dissipating. And everything else seemed to occur all at once. Alaric surged forward with his blade even as the beast lunged for Elena, who was braced and ready for him. Damon started for her, but was knocked to the ground suddenly by a sturdy obsidian wolf, who had him pinned to the ground and was snarling and snapping.

When Elena tried to meet the beast's attack, she was blindsided by Stefan, who shoved her down and out of the way, while the beast sailed over their heads and landed nearly ten feet away. She rolled out from under Stefan and onto her feet, but the beast only spared one last glance at her before he turned and took off into the trees. When she tried to follow, Stefan clamped an unyielding hand down on her hind leg, dragging her to a stop before she even got started. She whirled, almost snapping at him in reaction, but he released her as soon as he'd gotten her attention and she settled.

Alaric sped past them, a windy blur that disappeared in the direction the beast had gone.

Elena ignored him, her gaze battling it out between jumping to Bonnie—who was slumped worryingly against the beech tree—and over Stefan's shoulder to Damon—who was still wrestling with the snappy black animal, his hands gripping the wolf's jaw and throat irritably, keeping the straining teeth at bay. He was about the same size as her, the black wolf. And though she'd never seen him before, Elena and her wolf instinctively knew who he was.

_Brethren_, sister wolf told her admonishingly, but Elena was already in the air with no intention of stopping herself. She hit her target square in the ribcage, sending him flying off of Damon, and they tumbled together into the leaves, snapping and snarling at each other.

"_Elena_," both Damon and Stefan called after her in exasperation. After a brief glance at one another, Stefan rose to his feet and hurried toward Bonnie, who was just beginning to stir, and Damon propped up onto his elbows in the dirt.

The black wolf wriggled out from under her and hopped to his feet, shaking like he'd just come out of water. When she climbed to her feet, ready for round two, he whirled on his heel and took off. Before she could consider it, Elena's wolf had already broken out after him, leaving the others behind.

Meanwhile, Damon was on his feet and dusting himself off, wondering mildly whether he ought to go after her, then ultimately deciding that she could handle herself against the puny little runt of a werewolf she'd chased after. And Stefan was hooking his arms under Bonnie's knees and shoulders to lift her as he rose to his feet and turned toward his brother.

"Elena?"

"Fine," Damon muttered. "It's the first night of her phase. Let her have her fun."

Stefan looked uncertain for a moment, then his expression smoothed out and he turned toward the trail Alaric and the lycan had left behind. "We have to go after them. He doesn't stand a chance by himself."

"_Oh_ no," Damon drawled darkly, picking his head up and waltzing to his brother's side. "That plotting bastard's death will be mine, not the big beastie's. I won't give up the pleasure of driving a shard of wood into his heart to watch him wither up." The nerve of him, thinking he had a right to take what was Damon's, to _use_ her like that and nearly get her killed. No, his death would be for Damon.

Stefan ignored that, though he couldn't deny sympathizing with the sentiment. "More importantly," he retorted in a pointed tone. "That lycan's on a rampage."

Damon sent him an arched look: _I'm supposed to care?_

"And he wants Elena," Stefan finished, watching Damon's light look shutter closed. "He won't stop coming after her."

Taking a deep breath and shaking the severity off of him, Damon patted Stefan on the shoulder and smirked. "You're absolutely right, little brother. Big beastie can't be allowed to make it through the night." Then he stalked off after the trail.

Stefan started to follow, but then faltered. He had to go after them, had to help Alaric and make sure the lycan died. But he was looking reluctantly at the little witch in his arms, who was fluttering somewhere between unconsciousness and awareness. He couldn't exactly go running after that thing carrying her along with him. But he couldn't leave her here unguarded, either.

"Damon," he called, rushing to catch up. He'd just have to bring her somewhere safe and hope he could make it back in time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anna Dupré sauntered up the porch steps of the Gilbert house. She curled her dainty fist and tapped against the deep green door, once, twice, then stuffed her hands into the pockets of her cropped jacket and waited patiently, a pleasant smile lilting her lips all the while.

Finally, the front door swung open and a classically pretty young woman with strawberry hair answered. Her smile was polite as ever, but her eyes crinkled up at the corners with puzzlement and just a touch of suspicion. "Um, hi," she said slowly. "Can I help you?"

Anna's smile brightened. "I sure hope so."

The woman—Jenna, leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms, patient but still suspicious. "It's kind of late. Are you a friend of Elena or Jeremy?"

"Yes," Anna said. "I'm Elena's friend. Or sort of, we're on our way to becoming friends, I hope. I'm new in town, you see." Anna inched ever so closer, not bothering to try to force her way over the threshold. She needed an invitation for that. But as her pupils dilated with power, she smiled again and latched onto the older woman's gaze to draw her in. "And, as Elena's burgeoning friend, I would really appreciate it if you would allow me to come in for a moment. You see, I lent Elena something very precious to me and I need it back."

"Elena's not home right now," Jenna replied vacuously, her face beginning to slacken.

"I know." Anna nodded, wrapping her compulsion around the woman with a gentle caress. "But I can't wait. So you don't mind if I come in."

"I don't mind if you come in," Jenna said pleasantly, then stepped aside with a blank smile.

Anna chuckled shortly. "You'll need to actually invite me. I was raised with manners, you know."

"Of course, please come in."

"Why, thank you." Anna crossed the threshold and gave the woman a cute little curtsey before nudging Jenna into a trance state of sleep and strutting off down the hall without so much as a backward glance at her zombie.

Anna started her hunt in the study, searching bookshelves and the desk. When that failed, she moved systematically throughout each room in the house, thorough and precise and swift.

After almost eight minutes, the dark-haired girl let out a pleased harrumph and spun in a short circle. Gathering all of the old journals that belonged to the founding council's members, Anna tucked them safely away in the bag that hung from her shoulder, and then she turned to leave.

On her way out, she wiped all memory of her visit from the other woman's mind, giving her a soft mental nudge that dictated she would ransack the house as soon as Anna left and afterward believe it had been broken into while she was out on a run for more wine.

The little vampire was practically skipping with excitement as she strolled down the sidewalk along Maple Street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Stefan tracked down the others—having deposited an awakening Bonnie with her grandmother—the excitement was over. Not that he was particularly sorry at having missed out on the kill. He'd do what needed to be done, of course, but he didn't relish it, not like Damon did.

Alaric had followed the lycan all the way down to the old section of Mystic Falls Cemetery, and he and Damon together had managed to corner the creature by the decrepit Cromwell Crypt. By the time one or the other had managed to pierce its heart with the silver dagger—mangle its heart, more like it—they were both looking pretty ragged, accelerated vampiric healing or not.

Stefan approached with caution, not sure what sort of state either of the other vampires would be in. But when he got close, he allowed himself to relax. Neither was seriously wounded, just exhausted and ready to collapse. There'd be no more trouble here tonight.

On the ground in a fairly impressive pool of blood lay a young man, naked and nearly shredded. Stefan's bloodlust rose instantly at the crimson liquid that rode the night air, and paused to smother it. As he struggled inwardly, he stared down at the man's face, trying to place him.

"Gabriel McKittrick."

The three vampires spun as one at the strange voice, startled and seriously unnerved that the newcomer had managed to sneak up on all of them.

"Ben?" Alaric wondered skeptically, recognizing the man that was walking up the hill toward them as the bartender from the Mystic Grill.

Ben kept coming, and brushed past the vampires, too focused on the dead man lying there in the grass to worry about the predators surrounding him. "My brother," he admitted stoically, staring down into the dead man's face.

"The McKittrick family," Damon drawled, comprehension settling over him.

"One of the founding families," Stefan added.

"You're one of them," Alaric accused, rising up to his full height from where he'd been propped against a haggard headstone.

"Yeah," Ben said, sniffing against the chilly air and offhandedly rubbing at his nose. But the stiffness in his shoulders said it all. "Don't worry. My brother was the only killer in our family. Now that he's gone . . . I'm the only one left."

"Until you have kids and breed a whole new crop of unhinged shapeshifters."

Ben's eyes came up for the first time since he'd arrived and zeroed in coldly on Damon. "Do you mind? I'd like to be alone with my brother now." At the three doubtful faces that surrounded him, Ben sighed and raked a hand through his dark hair. "I'll take care of the body. You've done enough." He paused, biting his tongue against the gratitude and relief that threatened to bubble over. They'd taken the responsibility off of his shoulders. They had no idea what they'd done for him. Still, his brother was gone, and he needed to mourn. "Just go . . ."

After a few awkward moments, the three vampires turned and started down the hill, leaving the lycan alone with his dead brother at his feet.

When they reached the gate that took them out onto the street, Alaric wordlessly took off in a blur of shadow, a bit stunned to find himself at the resolution of the mission of revenge he'd been living by for years. What was he supposed to do now?

Damon looked on after him. _Don't think this is over_, he thought. _I'm not the "forgive and forget" kind of guy._ Then again, tomorrow was another day. He'd deal with Mr. History Professor and his penchant for abducting girls that didn't belong to him some other time. For tonight, all Damon was interested in was—

"I'm worried about Elena," Stefan said suddenly, cutting into his brother's thoughts as they walked down the sidewalk along Laurel Avenue, letting the humans swarm around them, blissfully blind.

_Well, that_, Damon thought, _and a glass of bourbon_. But, seeing as how Elena was stuck as a wolf until sunrise, he'd just have to make do with the bourbon. _Then again_—he smirked, glancing over his shoulder at a little blonde thing that glided by in a hurry. The pleated skirt that hugged her hips swished pleasingly around her milky thighs. The beat of her pulse was exerted and anxious as it palpitated beneath the surface, pumping the blood through the carotid artery in her neck. It called to him as a siren would a sailor.

He'd have a drink alright. The bourbon could be the chaser.

Just the thought had his canines tickling yearningly at the edges of his lip. And still, the moment the bloodlust surged . . . there was only one person he wanted to sink into and devour. Disturbing, but sadly it was the truth, been true for a long while now, and he found himself unable to deny it any longer.

But he couldn't have her, not tonight anyway. So he'd make do.

"Worry all you want, little brother. You saw her tonight. She'd kick your ass with one hand tied behind her back. Think she can't handle herself out there in the woods for a night? Think again."

"Still . . ." Stefan sighed.

Damon shook his head, clapped a hand on the back of Stefan's shoulder so suddenly that it almost sent him stumbling sideways. "You have yourself a _fine_ night," he drawled cheerily, then turned on his heel and stalked off after the little AB positive blonde in the miniskirt.


	14. Breaking Dawn

**Entry 14: Breaking Dawn**

**Part I**

Elena drifted into awareness with a pleasant gentleness. The first thing she noticed of the waking world was a repetitive _whistling_ sound that had her ears pricking up, literally. Then her body dropped down from the clouds of sleep and the uneven bed of grass and wildflower came into focus beneath her. That sound filling her ears was a thin mixture of whine and whistle, though beyond it was the familiar cacophony of early morning—the robins and such tweeting at one another, the soft rustle of breeze through forestry, and the hushed lull of a world still asleep in their beds. Distantly, there was a mellow trickling that could be nothing but the shallow stream of the river.

A sudden rumbling—almost like the muffled barking of a dog—arose.

She lifted one eyelid and immediately cringed it shut again at the burst of sunshine that assaulted her. Her body felt . . . odd. That was really the only word she could think of to use. It felt _odd_. And then she remembered why. But before she could do anything with that, something padded and round jabbed her in the gut and her head leapt up off of her front paws with a surprised _yip_.

It was the black wolf from last night. He was curled up asleep with his head resting on her hip and his forelegs drawn up. He'd kicked her, she realized. Before she could get affronted, though, he whistle/whined again and twitched. _Dreaming_, she sighed, putting her head back down and letting her eyes fall closed again.

But this was all just too strange for her at the moment. So as the wolf inside of her slumbered relentlessly, Elena staggered to her feet—all four of them—and the resultant slip to the ground it caused the black wolf startled him awake.

He raised his head, looking around and then settled his big brown eyes on her. He laid still and watched as she loped down toward the stream a few paces away and dipped her head low, lapping at the fresh flowing water. It wasn't until the cool liquid hit her throat that Elena realized just how parched she was, just how sore and tender her throat passageway was. It was strange, lapping like a cat—or, more appropriately, a dog—but getting the water into her mouth was simple. Her new tongue seemed to know instinctively how to operate itself.

Once sated, she pulled her head up and stepped back, bodily shaking herself off to get the debris out of her coat. _Okay_, she thought once she was done stretching. _Enough of this, I wanna be a real girl again_.

Then the panic struck. Could she even get back to herself? Or was she stuck this way? _No_—she took a calming breath of air—it was the full moon that did it. She must be able to revert back to her human form. But if so . . . then why hadn't she when the sun rose? She needed that voice back, she needed her wolf to tell her she was freaking out over nothing and _this is how you do it_. She tried to nudge at that tangible presence in her mind that she was omnisciently aware of. But the wolf ignored her, holding onto her deep sleep.

What was she supposed to do? _The boys_ —yes, they'd fix it. One of them would know what to do. But . . . could she get to the boarding house without being seen? She didn't need a mirror to tell her that she wasn't stray dog material. But, looking around, she couldn't place what part of the woods she was in.

_And quit staring at me_, she snapped at the black wolf, whose eyes seemed glued onto her. She loped back and forth, treading a path through the forest floor as she fretted. _Maybe I'm over thinking it_, she wondered. _Maybe if I just_ . . . She shut her eyes and willed herself to turn human. Nope, didn't work. Great, now what—_hey!_

After the black wolf had tipped his snout into the air and sniffed, he suddenly leapt to his feet and burst into a gallop, disappearing through the brush. Not wanting to be lost out here alone, Elena took off after him.

She weaved through shrub and tree, the spongy pads of her paws bouncing fluidly over the leafy ground as she chased after the black wolf. She was panting and her heart was thundering wildly by the time she skidded to an abrupt stop. She found the black wolf hopping clumsily into the air, trying to reach the furry caramel squirrel that was making its way up the bark of an old pine tree. The wolf jumped again, lunging, and the squirrel swished its tail at him, having a grand 'ol time as it made the wolf go wild.

Elena was somewhat pleased to find that even in wolf form, she could roll her eyes. _Stop that_, she snapped. _Get ahold of yourself. Come on, I mean it. You're just embarrassing yourself._

The squirrel scampered up into the web of branches and escaped along the treetops. As soon as it was out of sight, the black wolf whirled around and leapt for Elena, who let out a high-pitched squeak of surprise and ducked. He caught her midway through a dodge and they tumbled sideways into a holly bush, then both yelped indignantly at the touch of sharp prickled leaves. They went opposite ways in their hurry to escape the serrated bush, but before Elena could get her bearings back, he was on her again, tackling her to the ground. She nipped at his foreleg and swiveled away from him, scampering a bit herself.

_Strange_, the girl thought. But even stranger that it was so easy to get swept up in the laughing airiness of her wolf's enjoyment as they played together. She hadn't felt so good, so free and easy of life since before her parents died. And it was all her wolf's doing. _Maybe this whole _werewolf_ thing isn't so bad_, she thought with a small smile, even as she caught him lightly by the tip of his tail and tugged. Undignified, surely, but not all that terrible . . .

A little while later, she was trying to outrun him when they broke out of the woods and came barreling through a sodden trench and onto asphalt. Looking around, it didn't take her long to figure out where they were. Now all they had to do was figure out where to go from here.

Before she could come up with her next move, the black wolf came up beside her and butted her lightly with the crowd of his head. And when she turned to him, he jerked his neck toward one end of the road and started off at a lazy trot, just expecting her to follow him.

Elena watched him go, deliberating with herself. They were on the east end of town, somewhere between Main Street and the high school. One part of her was saying they needed to stay away from civilization—it wouldn't be good for townspeople to spot them out and about. But she wanted to go home. So she shook her head and loped off after him, marveling for the umpteenth time over how differently this new body of hers worked.

Skulking along the edges of the woods and slinking through the backend of subdivisions, they'd only gone as far as a mile before he led her across the street and up to the side of Valero's, one of Mystic Falls' only three gas stations. He avoided the parking lot and storefront of the small beaten-down building, instead rounding from the back and coming along the deserted side that was lined with the dumpsters and employee parking slots.

What they were doing there was explained before she could stress at a way to ask him. He peeked around the corner of the building and when she followed suit, Elena spotted what he was looking for—the payphone. Good, they were on the same page. Only, neither could exactly use the phone how they were at the moment.

Huffing in aggravation, Elena backed away from him and the corner. _Human, human, human_, she thought desperately. As he looked back over his shoulder at her with a peculiar frown, she was screwing her eyes shut and conjuring up the memory of herself in her mind.

She pictured her long chocolate-brown tresses of hair that curled into wild S waves whenever she let it go more than a day without flat-ironing it. And her soft caramel-hued skin—complete with the small freckles that plagued her forearms and chest, and the crescent-shaped birthmark on her right thigh.

She remembered the way she always wished that she wasn't so slender and delicate boned. Not that she wanted to be thick or bulky, just not so dainty and birdlike. Even with the muscles she sculpted from dancing and cheerleading, she was so small. And her breasts could stand to be a bit fuller, not that she was complaining, really. Her face was oval and almost childlike in bone structure. Her eyebrows were thin and arched low, and there was still a tiny bump on the tip of her nose from that time in third grade when she could pushed into a brick wall by Caroline, supposedly by accident. Her hands were small, but her fingers were long, and her teeth were in remarkably healthy condition. Jeremy had worn braces for about a year when they were little, but she'd never once had a problem with hers.

All in all, Elena was fairly satisfied with herself, physically—always had been. She was fond of her body, imperfections, assets, and all. So she _really_ didn't want to be stuck without it. Not to mention all the . . . nope, not going to even go that route. She needed to concentrate.

She couldn't say for sure just how long she sat there like a sphinx thinking of her original form, just that it took her by surprise when that warm tingle of magic brushed up against her. It started as a small touch of shimmering sensation in the center of her chest, and then quickly spread outward through the rest of her, until she was completely swallowed whole by it, glowing like the apparition of an angel.

A moment later, the magic swept away, leaving her whole and standing upright on two feet with smooth furless skin and true color vision. She gasped sharply, nearly stumbling into the side of the building, tipsy. It took a minute to readjust to being back on two feet instead of four. But once she had, Elena frantically ran her hands along her body, just to make sure nothing had changed. Her hair was a tangled and wavy mess that tickled the flesh of her areolas, making her feel itchy as the dark tresses hung over her exposed breasts. And that's when it registered just how _stark naked_ she was.

With another startled gasp, she flung her arms up and across, hugging herself and half crouching, unable to decide just what to shield. Meanwhile, the black wolf was sitting a few feet away, watching her. When she scowled at him, he just let his long tongue flop out the side of his muzzle and sent her a lopsided grin. _Talk about wolfish looks_, she thought dryly.

"Turn around," she hissed forcefully, lowering into a squat with her back to the wall that felt like sandpaper and her arms and hair and knees being used to hide herself from him and the rest of the world.

The black wolf shook his head, harrumphed, and then loped past her and curved around one of the dumpsters out of sight.

Elena sat there for a moment, pondering on just what she was supposed to do now. But she already knew. She had to get to that payphone. But . . . _But I'm naked!_

"Damn it," she huffed vehemently, dropping her head and running her hands through her wavy hair with a heavy sigh. At least it was early—the gas station was still closed. The street was pretty empty still. Coming awkwardly but determinedly to her feet, Elena thanked the heavens for small mercies and began creeping out from around the side of the building. It was only about twenty feet away, that payphone. Just twenty feet, it wasn't that far. And she was there within no time.

Dialing through the rigmarole of calling collect—while she huddled against the wall, stretched the phone cord as far as it would go, used limb and hair to shrink and hide—was quite the experience. And, of course, it was an eternity before the line even started ringing. Then there were another few panicky moments as it went on ringing and ringing before _finally_ the line clicked open and a croaky voice mumbled something akin to "Huh?"

"Jeremy!" she cried. "Thank God. Jer, listen, you gotta come get me. Like quick, like now, like an hour ago—you have to _hurry_. And, for the love of God, bring clothes!" She stopped, took a breath, listened to his befuddled grumbling, then sucked in another—_I'm having a heart attack!—_breath and dropped to the ground as a car went by on the road. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm at the Valero on fifth." She paused then let out an exasperated huff. "I don't care if you don't have a license! You know how to drive—just take my car. _Please_, Jer, you have no idea. I'll explain when you get here. Just come!" Her voice dropped in the middle and ended on a squeaky shrillness that made her cringe.

She cut off his response, slamming the phone back into its cradle and darting for the side of the building just as what looked like the same car as before came down the road—probably coming back to find out whether they'd imagined the naked girl huddled by the payphone. With a graceless dive, Elena made it behind one of the dumpsters a split-second before the car passed by. Once it was gone, she nearly fainted with relief. As it was, she fell back against the gruff wall and curled into a ball, laying her head on her knees and heaving an exhausted sigh.

_Don't worry_, her now fully awake wolf assured. _The modesty won't last. Soon you'll be so accustomed to the natural way that you won't even notice your lack of dress. The change tends to shred clothing. Though, we will need to be careful to not draw attention this way. Humans are touchy about uncovering their bodies._

"Bite me," she muttered tiredly, then rested her head back against the wall and wrapped her arms around her drawn-up legs. Her wolf ruffled in a lazy moue before settling back down into that state of slumber.

She didn't care what the wolf said. She wasn't ever going to be comfortable with strutting around buck naked, especially out in public! Her life was strange enough as it was without taking up nudism.

As she waited for Jeremy, she glanced around for the black wolf. But apparently, he'd gone for good when she'd chastised him for staring. Not that it bothered her. She was certain she'd see him again, whether she wanted to or not. It was just as well that he took off this morning, though. She'd rather not deal with _that_ awkwardness.

Some ten minutes later, the shiny silver chrome of her Ford Escape glinted in the rising sunlight as it pulled into the station and ambled to a halt in front of a gas pump. Elena waited where she was—hidden behind the dumpster—until she saw her little brother climb out and look around.

"Jer!" she called in a whisper-shout, peeking her head out from around the dumpster. "Over here."

He scanned for a second before finding her with his eyes and she watched his face scrunch. "What the hell?"

"Clothes!" she yelled when he started toward her empty-handed.

Jeremy rolled his eyes and did an about-face. "Okay, okay," he muttered as he reached into the backseat of the Escape and came out with an armful of ratty gray sweats. "Jenna's gonna pitch a fit when she finds out about this."

"What're you talking about?" she asked, reaching out blindly with one hand and grabbing the clothes from his outstretched hand. "You know what happened. Aunt Jenna isn't going to find out."

"And how would I know what happened?" he asked, giving her his back while she scrabbled into the baggy sweatpants and Metallica T-shirt—Jeremy's clothes, not hers. "We were just about to have dinner last night when you disappeared. And when we realized you were gone, Bonnie and your boyfriends took off like the devil was on their trail, not giving me or Jenna even one word to the wise."

"Oh." She had to roll the waistband of the pants more than a few times over and they still hung dangerously loose on her hips. She felt strange without underwear or a bra, but it sure as hell was better than nothing. "Sorry, I just assumed they told you what was going on."

Jeremy crossed his arms across his chest, still facing away from her. "Nobody tells me anything."

Elena took in a deep breath, and while she pulled her unruly hair up and twisted it over one shoulder, she moved past him toward the car. "Well, I'll fill you in on the way home. But I've got to make a few quick stops first."

Jeremy groaned from behind her. "You're not dragging me along while you visit Louis and Lestat. Do that on your own time."

"Would you stop calling them that?" Elena climbed into the driver's seat and started the car up while Jeremy crossed around and hopped into the passenger side. "And you can wait in the car. I won't be long."

"Alright," he grumbled, slouching down in the seat and propping his head up against the window. "But the _second_ things get touchy feely I'm outta here."

"Duly noted," she drawled, and then pulled out of the station and onto the street.

Any ideas of telling her story of the night's events went up in smoke, because before she'd even gotten past Main Street, Jeremy was dead to the world and snoring like a mule. She'd obviously dragged him out of bed _way_ too early. And she could see why, glancing at the clock in the console with wide eyes.

It took about five minutes to get out to the boarding house, and even so it was too long for Elena's liking. Once she'd been headed in that direction, she was swarmed with questions. When she'd left them last night, the lycan had been gone. She hadn't thought they were in danger, or else she never would have abandoned Bonnie out there. But she knew Stefan would take care of her. She'd been planning on going out to see them to find out what happened after she left them in the woods. But as she eased down the long driveway and pulled to a stop out in front of the massive Tudor, she was suddenly being eaten away by worry and doubt.

Had the monster come back? Had they gone after it? Was Bonnie alright after that draining containment spell she pulled? Were the boys? She didn't even know if they were alive . . . _Okay, stop. Now you're just being ridiculous_. Of course they were fine. They could take care of themselves, after all. And besides, she'd have known if something serious had happened to either one of them. No matter what, she just _knew_ she would feel it.

Still, her churning stomach would not settle down until she'd seen them whole and intact for herself.

Coming down from that heady rush of panic, she shut off the engine and dropped the keys onto the dashboard, drawing in a steadying breath before she left a sleeping Jeremy behind and headed up to the grand front entrance.

She would've just let herself in, but this had to be a brief visit, and if she went inside it could easily turn into something else entirely. So she tapped out a fine sturdy knock that was sure to wake the dead—no pun intended—and then she waited. Though ultimately she didn't have long to wait at all.

The ornate dark-oak door swung inward and a rumpled Damon appeared at the threshold. The house behind him was a dark void like a deep abyss ready to suck her in—as if it weren't just the inside of a house but rather an entirely different realm, completely separate from the normal world. The sunshiny porch was wrapped around her like a security blanket, she in this world and him in that alternate one, facing each other through the portal that was the entryway.

Elena instinctively took a small step back as he moved to lean crookedly against the doorjamb, crossing his ankles. Her reflexive cursory scan of him deepened into a quick but not-so-cursory examination as she took in the ruffled bed-head of ebony hair, which turned into a dark sienna shade as the sunlight hit it. His chest was bare, and her gaze stuttered over the rigid planes of muscle and sinew and down the line of fine hair—a shock of dark against the pale alabaster of his skin tone—that dipped below the waistband of his plaid pajama pants. His feet were bare too.

"What do you know," she quipped, eyes popping back up to his face as a grin lilted her lips. "You do sleep, after all. And here I was thinking you were untouched by those mundane mortal habits."

He smirked. "Ah, but with me there's nothing _mundane_ about it."

She cocked her head a bit. "Mmm . . . better be careful, or else I may start thinking of you as a real person and not just the demon outside my window."

Damon pushed off from the doorjamb and advanced into her personal space like a looming cat on the prowl. The sunlight hit his eyes and they shined a shade of pure aquamarine at her. When he spoke, his voice had gone low and vibrated through her, down to her toes. "I seem to recall being real enough for you the other night. Or was that someone else?"

Lips falling apart, Elena felt the tinge of heat rise to her cheeks and stopped breathing, she went so still. "No," she murmured evenly. "That was me, alright."

He arched his dark brow at her, looking down with a curious tilt of his head. "Are you sure?"

And she knew what he meant. _Are you sure it wasn't just the wolf's influence?_ The answer was _yes_, she was sure. Not that she would've ever done that had the circumstances been different, but it wasn't like she could claim temporary insanity. She was the one that wanted them both like that, right then and there, and it was only the stress of the situation that pushed her over the edge. It took away her inhibitions. It didn't make her do something she didn't _want_ to do.

Still, she couldn't let herself remember the fragmented pieces of that night while he was staring at her, seemingly seeing right through her. It would only get awkward if she let it. And she had no plans to let it. She was feeling too good this morning to deal with that kind of stuff.

So, decidedly airy, she tipped her head back and gave him a genuine smile. "Can I ask you something?"

"Like I can stop you," he drawled, and he was lingering so close that she felt the brush of his breath hit her nose.

"Too true, but I can't make you answer."

"Are we going to dance around a bit more or are you just going to ask?"

"That wasn't the first time, was it?" she obliged without missing a beat, truly having no inclination of what the answer would be.

His coral lips twitched before he schooled his expression into a mask of uncomprehending innocence that she didn't buy for a second. "The first time?" he prodded, fully intending to make her say it and enjoy the resultant fluster.

She surprised him, though, by not stumbling, not even hesitating. "That you and he shared someone—sexually, I mean—at once." Her voice was soft and steady, as if she was talking about the weather, and she was all at once extraordinarily surprised and inordinately impressed with herself.

That raised his brow again, and the lurking _something_ in his stare sent a tingle up her spine. She _so_ wished she knew what he was thinking. "Why do you want to know?"

Elena swallowed, casting her gaze to the side to keep her cool. "Call it morbid curiosity."

He waited in patient silence until her eyes came back to him. "All right, then for the sake of morbid curiosity: Yes."

Elena took a step back, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Yes?"

He shrugged, and it was a graceful motion that could've meant anything. "Yes."

She folded her arms across her midriff. "Yes what?"

He took a quick step forward and suddenly somehow had her pressing herself back into the porch's brick balustrade to avoid rubbing up against him. "Yes, it was the first time, Elena."

Her frown deepened. When she shook her head, wavy locks fell around her. "But I thought—"

"You thought wrong."

"Not even Katherine?"

"Not even Katherine. She liked us one at a time."

Her face scrunched with distaste. "Well, now, you don't have to put it like that."

He arched an eyebrow with amusement and turned with her when she casually slipped out between him and the brick and distanced them. "How else should it be put?" he teased.

"Just not like that, Damon."

He spread his hands wide in a "what can you do?" gesture. "Besides, for the majority of our pseudo-quasi liaisons, it wasn't in the open that she had us both."

"You mean she played you two off of each other?" she asked, sinking further into disconcerting territory.

He gave her a dry harrumph of a laugh and smirked, a look that conveyed his dark sarcastic amusement. "No, more like while Saint Stefan was courting the respectable young lady, I was sneaking around with the wicked vixen."

Elena looked away again, shifting her feet and hugging herself tighter. Was it wrong or just idiotic that his words sparked a flame of sickening jealousy inside of her that settled heavily like a golf ball in her throat?

There was something still churning in the back of her mind, something to do with him that had been there since before this morning, since before last night. But confronted with him in the flesh, face to face, she couldn't for the life of her think of what precisely it was. She just knew it was a feeling of weight that pressed down on her, nagging at her. And she had no idea how to get rid of it.

"Then why . . ." she trailed off.

"Why you?" he guessed, and she was surprised to note the usual sardonic mockery absent from his deep tone. Then he was pacing a lazy circle around her, prowling again. "I don't know, Elena—what do you think?"

She swallowed convulsively as he made his second trip around her. "You said the wolf's aura—or pheromones or whatever—could be overbearing?"

"I did say something like that."

"So, if—" Something horrible just occurred to her. If her aura influenced them into giving her what she wanted, then did that mean that she'd essentially forced them to . . . _Oh God_. She thought she might be sick.

"Oh, was that it?" he asked impishly after reading her mind, raising his brow, rounding her, playing with her. He slanted in until his mouth brushed against the shell of her ear through the sheet of her wavy hair. "Did you _compel_ us into screwing you, Elena?"

She whirled on him and gave a good sharp shove. "Stop it."

"Stop what?"

She shifted her body away from him and locked her jaw, though her eyes stung and her throat thickened like she might cry. But she'd be damned if he'd get that reaction out of her. Why did he always have to ruin everything? She'd woken up feeling better than she'd felt in months, over half a year actually. And a little under ten minutes with Damon Salvatore and she was on the brink again.

He came up behind her and settled his hands onto her shoulders with a light touch. "No need to hide your face from me, Elena." His voice was nothing more than a tangible whisper that seeped into her skin, making every nerve ending come alive. "I can smell the salt of you tearing up, plain as day."

"Damn you," she whispered hoarsely, swiping at a solitary drop of wetness that streaked down her cheek. She tried to jerk away from his touch, but he tightened his hands and kept her still, pressing himself into her from behind. She felt the cool brush of his chest through the thin fabric of her T-shirt, and shivered.

His face burrowed into her hair as he took in a deep breath of her. "There's no need for all that. I was only teasing." He let go of one shoulder then only to cross his arm diagonally down and around her body, folding his hand over the curve of her hip. "You can't bend our will, like you could the humans." His lips were hot against the delicate shell of her ear again, and Elena felt herself being scorched from the inside out, shocked and tingled like she'd stepped on a live wire. "We took you because we wanted you, and because you needed it."

And then all at once he released her and stepped away, leaving her swaying the slightest bit, stupefied. "You . . ." she tried and failed and then just gave up and concentrated on calming her hyperaware nervous system.

Damon gave her a low chuckle before he rounded back into her line of sight. "Ironically, it was the one and only time Stefan and I were in complete symmetry. Just don't expect it to happen again, princess. I prefer our equilibrium just the way it is, thank you very much."

"Hap—" she started before bringing herself up just short of carrying them into another argument. She paused, licked her lips, and then said, "Right." Carefully, she turned herself around to face him and crossed her arms again, bowing her spine for cool confidence. They'd gotten so far off track it wasn't even funny. "Anyway, I just stopped by to . . ." _Damn_.

"To what?" he asked, lips twitching again.

She scowled, pursing her lips at him. "To find out what happened, and to make sure you both were okay." She added the last part with pure stubbornness, only the challenge in his eyes convincing her to admit it, unashamedly. But her wounded pride had her opening her mouth once more. "Not that you even deserve my concern after the scene you just pulled on me."

He held up his hands in mild self-defense. "You opened the door, I only went through it." She opened her mouth to gibe something scathing back at him, but he brought her up short by moving quick as lightning to linger in her space again, their bodies nearly brushing as he backed her up against the dark weatherboard of the house. "And now that you've brought it up—how was running with the wolves, anyway? Enjoy yourself?"

"Immensely," she purred for emphasis, lifting her chin at him.

He grinned, and it made his aquamarine eyes sparkle as they flashed at her. "If only I were one to say _I told you so_."

She rolled her eyes indulgently, but the corners of her mouth were tugging. "Yes, you were right. There're harsher fates."

"Mm," he answered, closing in on her with a hungry gleam in his eyes that made her skin crawl, and not in an altogether unpleasant manner.

She sighed, muscles going lax under his looming energy. The swift shift in mood left her mind reeling though. How his affect on her could go from smoldering to soothing in the blink of an eye at his temperamental whim was beyond her, and beyond frustrating. She sunk a bit as she leaned back against the weatherboard, melting against him while he pinned her almost lazily with a hand against the house on either side of her head.

Just one look and the presence of his body so near to hers was like a deep-tissue massage and a warm bath and dark chocolate brownies all rolled into one—whenever he pleased. Of course, he also had the ability to do just the opposite. Given, normally she wouldn't let it affect her so badly, but today she just didn't have the strength to fight him.

But she could quite possibly distract him. "Where's Stefan?" she lilted softly a second before his mouth would've crushed hers.

With an irritated sigh, Damon shoved away from the side of the house, leaving her slumped there. He spun on his heel and stalked over to the brick balustrade. As he looked out silently over the far-reaching front yard, her eyes roamed over the ripple of muscle along his back, tense and agitated as his body was. He put on a good show, but his body won't always lie for him. "Dear brother of mine is out hunting," he told her finally, his voice thin and as brittle as glass.

Elena swallowed thickly, clenching her hands at her sides and blinking as she waited for the filmy haze to clear out of her mind. "And last night?" she asked. "The lycan . . ."

"Dead," he said brusquely, still refusing to face her.

If she didn't know any better, she'd think it was jealousy he was all worked up over. Not his usual style. "Was it someone from town?"

"A McKittrick," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Ben?" she gasped. Not Ben, it couldn't be.

"No, his brother . . ." And then he did turn back to her, smirking.

This time _she_ read _his_ mind. "How ironic," they murmured together, sharing tones and locking gazes. The good brother and the bad: ironic indeed.

"Stay," he said suddenly, not a command but a request.

And she wanted to, oh how she wanted so badly to. "Can't," she whispered, sighing deeply.

"Won't," he corrected.

"Probably an even mixture of both," she admitted, and then pushed away from the weatherboard and straightened herself out with an air of decision. His eyes still had a hold of her, though. And until he let her go, she wasn't turning away. "But Jeremy's waiting in the car and I'm just making the rounds. Next stop's Bonnie."

"Elena," he called.

But she hadn't moved yet. "Yes?"

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but the words caught in his throat, and that yearning look that had come over him so suddenly just as abruptly shuttered and locked her out blind again. Finally, he settled for "Stefan left Bonnie with the old witch last night." _So you'll find her there._

"Thanks . . ."

It took every ounce of willpower to duck her head and scurry past him. And all the way back to the car, she felt his eyes follow her like an indeterminable itch between her shoulder blades, one she had no idea how to handle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Mystic Motel on the outer edge of town was directly off the interstate and directly _on_ Highway 9. A rounded style with 13 separate cabins on each the ground and second level that were strung into a three-sided rectangle with the parking lot and the pool squashed in the middle, the old place looked as if it'd gone—or should've anyway—out of business at least a few decent decades ago.

It was nearly 10 a.m. Sunday morning and the sun was hot and heavy in the gray clouded sky by the time Grace Harper pulled into the old place in her flashy new Prius. Yes, Grace was an eco-friendly white witch. She'd been a Greenpeace supporter long before it became fashionable. Though, she never had much of a choice in the matter, seeing as how her Gran raised her right by the ways of Wicca.

She hadn't slept since the three hours she caught at that rest stop in Georgia, and was starving to the extent that her stomach's protests had been carrying over the radio for the last thirty miles. She really should've stopped or sped through a McDonald's drive-thru first. Dealing with Nicholas without food-for-fuel had always been a severely _bad_ idea. But she'd been so close to Mystic Falls that she couldn't bring herself to delay for even the few minutes it would've taken her to grab a Hot and Spicy McChicken with a shake and fry.

_Dang_, now that's all she could think of. It was so bad her mouth was watering.

She needed food. And she needed sleep. And she needed time out of this godforsaken car. Seriously, eco-friendly road trips just weren't worth the sacrifice. She'd have taken Nic's Cadillac, earth be damned, if it hadn't already been in Virginia with him.

There were a few undignified moments after climbing out of the car where Grace just leaned, uncoiling all of the crick and kinks from her muscles and joints. The worst had to be the one in her neck—and no, she wasn't referring to the near-permanent crick in the neck that was Nicholas. But the achy numbness of her backside—the kind of uncomfortable sensation that only ever comes from sitting on your butt for endless consecutive hours—was coming in at a decent second.

By the time she could move anywhere close to _not_ like an ancient old biddy, Grace had her not-quite-shoulder-length ruby-red hair pulled up into a French twist with stray strands falling around to frame her Irish pale and freckled face, and she was more than ready to get down to business. She left the army surplus duffel of clothing she'd brought with her in the trunk and rattled the keys around in her hand as she strode up into the front office. In that first second on the threshold, a blast of hot air from inside hit her in the face, and she shivered at the contrast. Though the sun was fairly baking, the wind today was winter chilly, and the clerk had jacked up the heat in the tiny box of a registry to counter it.

The kid behind the desk couldn't have been more than fifteen, with a pizza-pimpled face and scruffy dishwater hair that hung lank into his eyes. He was on the computer when she came in—a dinosaur of an antique—and from the sounds that blasted from the speakers he was pretty engrossed in one of those interactive online war games. Not that she'd ever played. Gran had seen to it that she kept her distance from the more intricate electronic wonders of the developing world. It was something about the output waves kinking up her magic and such.

Grace ambled up to the front desk and tapped a string of metallic-tipped fingernails across its surface to grab the kid's attention. When his bright gray eyes connected with her, she felt the _zing_ of her wiles catch him blind and hold him tight. He sat staring deeply, awaiting her.

"Tell me—" she glanced down at the nametag fastened onto his shirt "—Bryan. Around a week or so ago, a gentleman checked in for one room, smoking, single occupancy. He was tall, with short-cropped black hair and probably a day or so of stubble, a small scar through his eyebrow. Do you remember?"

"Yes. I remember him. Uncle Jay checked him in." The kid nodded eagerly, checked his registry book before he looked back up at her. "Stu Redman, that the one?"

Grace offered him a pleased smile and tapped her hands against the countertop again. "Yes, that's him. Give me a key to his cabin, would you?"

"Of course." The kid jumped off his stool and rushed to snatch up the right room key, then twirled back to her with barely contained excitement and held it out for her. "Anything else, ma'am?" he asked hopefully. "Anything at all, you name it."

"That'll be it for now," she told him kindly, retracting her touch once she had her palm curled safely around Nicholas's room key. _Stu Redman_, she mused, walking out of the office and letting the boy go back to his game as if there'd been no interruption at all. "Oh, darling, you're so predictable." He'd taken his alias from his favorite novel, King's _The Stand_. Nicholas's aliases were also borrowed from literature—she had no idea why, because he hardly ever read at all.

Grace paused in front of cabin 3, catching her lower lip between her teeth and gnawing at it uncertainly. Her free hand came up to toy with the bulky gold ring she wore on a threaded chain around her neck. It was a graduate class ring in design, though the stone set in it was atypical—lapis lazuli.

She'd stolen it from him right before he left, when she saw in his thoughts that he'd finally found Damon Salvatore. Like she'd told him at the time, if he wanted to go chasing trouble, he'd do so by night and not in the harsh light of day. She knew it'd chafe him, which was the only reason she'd done it, well, that and a poor attempt at limiting his chance of havoc. Nicholas was a morning person, he loved the sun—yes, odd old vampire, as she always told him. She'd been so sore at him when he'd gone ahead anyway, even without his ring of protection.

And the fact that this was all her fault just wouldn't leave her alone. It was awfully irritating. After all, she'd only taken up with Damon in the hopes to show Nicholas what it was like sharing the person you love. She'd just wanted him to stop sleeping around. She didn't even mind the feeding off of other women, because she understood that it was a necessary part of what he was. How many vampires could say that about their girlfriends? Hm? Not many, she'd say. But he could be faithful in the most important way, the only way that counted. And her seducing his friend was only the nudge that should have made him see the light.

Admittedly, in retrospect, she could see that it was a very stupid idea. Not one of her best. But what was done was done, and the bitterness Nicholas carried with him was both incredibly hypocritical and self-righteous, not to mention it'd gone on for too ridiculously long a time. It was time to move on. And she needed to somehow convince him of that—something she had failed to do over the last seven months—_before_ the shit hit the fan in this town.

And she couldn't let him kill or ruin Damon, either. It wasn't fair. Salvatore was a prick—a delicious prick, but a prick nonetheless—and dangerous too, but he did have his good qualities. And it just wasn't fair. She'd dragged him into her and Nicholas's messy issues and given Nic a target for the frustrations that should've been self-directed. So this was her mess to clean up.

With that thought ringing determinedly through her head, Grace took a deep breath, shook herself steady, and unlocked the door. She wasn't worried about the sunlight streaming in, because she knew Nic wouldn't risk sleeping out in the open without his ring. He'd be in the bathtub, undoubtedly.

After making sure the door was sealed tight behind her, Grace stalked across the tiny little motel room and banged her fist against the bathroom door. "It's your wake up call," she yelled, gearing herself up for the inevitable blowup. "Now come out and greet me, lover."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a good night's rest and a tricky little herbal remedy of her grandmother's, Bonnie had turned out perfectly fine, much to Elena's relief. The entire hour she was there visiting her friend, Grams was disapproving and narrow-eyed hostility, though she never sent a single rude word Elena's way. And Elena couldn't bring herself to get defensive over it. It was her fault Bonnie had collapsed under the sheer pressure of magic overload. She was the one that endangered the old woman's granddaughter, and she couldn't disagree with Grams' resentment. She was just so thankful that Bonnie was okay.

When she left them there, Elena resolved with herself to never ask Bonnie of anything of the magical variety again. It just wasn't worth it. And like Grams had said—she obviously wasn't ready. By bringing her problems to Bonnie, Elena had forced her best friend into doing things that were over her head. Well, that wouldn't be happening again.

Since she'd ended up dropping Jeremy off at home and taking a nice hot shower before changing into an outfit of her own while she was there, before she went to check in on Bonnie, Elena was comfortable enough to allow impulse to sway her as she climbed into the Escape and drove away from Bianca Bennett's house.

She drove over to the McKittrick house on Sycamore, making a quick stop at Margie's Deli on the way. She parked the Escape on the curb near the narrow driveway, and put the parking brake into place, because Sycamore rode a pretty steep incline.

Since last night, her raging body's temp seemed to have settled back to normal—somewhat. She was still running a bit warmer than was average, but nothing noticeable. After her shower earlier, she'd slipped on a rayon sundress that flowed to her ankles, an ivory-hued tiered piece that was given to her a long while ago by her mother. It wasn't often that Elena wore a dress—usually only on formal occasions—but today she wasn't feeling in the mood for any sort of pants, which was probably the wolf's influence, but who could say for sure? She'd been fine at Bonnie's and in the car, but when she climbed out of the Escape and looked up at the worn-down two-story sitting on the hill in front of her, she felt the urge to tug on that denim jacket she'd brought along.

Feeling a bit anxious, she grabbed up the brown paper bag that carried the two foot-long sub sandwiches, and slipped the single white rose she'd picked up inside, then chucked it into the crook of her arm and started up the walkway.

_Maybe this wasn't such a good idea_, she thought as her knuckles rapped on the front door. As inconsiderate as ding-dong-ditch would be, she still had at least a few seconds to change her mind. But she didn't really, because the door swung open almost immediately after her short knock, and in the entryway she was greeted by Benjamin McKittrick—more familiarly known as Bartender Ben.

Mouth open, breath hitched, the first thing she noticed was just how awful he looked. He carried a heavy air of haggard weariness. He clothes were disheveled and dirty as they hung off of him crookedly, like he'd slept more than a few nights in them. His feet were bare, and his brown cropped hair stuck up at odd angles. But it was the dark bags under his eyes and the sallow look about him that did it.

_What did you expect? _she chided herself. _His brother's dead_. And then she felt guilty and silly, shifting her feet there on his doorstep the morning after. What was the protocol for that friendly acquaintance down the street when you help murder his serial-killing brother? And did the fact that they were both werewolves make a difference? Surely, but she'd had to come.

So, she sucked it up, offered an empathetic look, and pitched out the bag toward him, offering it up but holding her spot to let him decide. He could slam the door in her face or he could take the bag and let her in, either way it was his choice and she'd respect it. She conveyed all that with one practiced look, not bothering to smile. Everybody always came up and gave her the fakest sad-smiles after her parents died. What made them think she'd want their pity smiles, anyway?

For the longest moment, Ben just stared at her with those bright hazel eyes, making her want to fidget under the scrutiny. But then he scratched at the back of his head and rucked up one side of his mouth. "'Lena Gilbert . . . been expecting you," he said.

"Can I come in?"

He tossed a look over his shoulder before he shrugged and took the paper bag from her. Without a word, he turned and padded down the hallway, leaving her to step inside and shut the door behind her. She was midway through grasping at a decent opener when she followed him into a messy den and stopped dead in her tracks. Right there on one of the long tan-leather sofas was Tyler Lockwood.

Her prickly classmate was sprawled out across the sofa on his stomach, snoring away, completely dead to the world he was in so deep. Ben ambled right by the passed out boy, on his way to the kitchen, and paid no notice of Elena's falter.

She couldn't say how, exactly, but fact of the matter was that all it took was one look to recognize the rangy black wolf she'd woken up lying beside in the woods this morning. And at that, the black wolf she'd been with syncing up with the name Tyler, a rancid taste settled on her tongue. She'd never liked Tyler. And her disdain for him made the idea that he was that wolf all the more odd to swallow. Not that she'd been overly fond of the black wolf, but there'd been a part of her that had felt an instant connection—_brethren_, as her own wolf had put it the night before. But now that she knew he was _Tyler Lockwood_ . . . well, the blooming sentimentality for the wolf was completely tainted. And strangest of all, she couldn't help but acknowledge the sliver of disappointment that came with it.

Elena shook her head, sighing and brushing the frisson away before she slinked after Ben, coming into the spacious sunlit kitchen just as he was unwrapping one of the subs. The bag was crumpled into a ball and its contents set on the yellow countertop he was leaning a hip against.

"Sorry," he mumbled through a chomping bite of parmesan chicken sandwich. "I'm not exactly suited up for company at the moment."

"I heard about your brother," she replied softly.

He arched a bushy eyebrow at her, chomping. "From the vampires, it must've been. Nobody else knows."

Elena moved to slip tentatively into a rickety dining chair that was tucked into the corner with a round white-oak table. "What are you going to tell everyone?"

He shrugged and turned his eyes down to his sandwich. "Gabe never was much of a townie. I'll say he took off—gone out to L.A. or something." He paused thoughtfully. "It's not like there's anybody to ask questions. I'm the only of the family left, and he lost touch with all his friends around the time . . . 'bout when he started losing it."

Elena licked her lips, the only sound in the hollow old house being her breathing and his chewing. She hated prying, but really, she kind of had a right to know about him. Everything that had happened had been Gabriel McKittrick's doing, a college dropout that she'd spoken less than five words to all her life. He made her a werewolf, made her ashamedly terrified of the bogeyman figure he represented, and last night he'd almost killed her. Yep, she was entitled to pry. "Can you tell me about it?"

"You're better off in the dark." He shrugged dismissively, still refusing to look up at her. "Just put it behind you as quick as you can. You need to be stable to control yourself."

"Is that what he's doing here?" she asked, tipping her head toward the den.

Ben set his sub down and folded his arms across his chest. "The first time you change is always explosive, and totally uncontrollable. What the kid did couldn't have been helped."

Elena's stomach churned. She waited a beat and swallowed before carefully asking, "What did he do?"

Ben looked her square in the eye then. "You've seen the paper this morning, front page? Meredith Sullivan's body was found washed up from the river. Sheriff's calling it an animal attack."

"What else would it be called?" she countered archly, but then her expression sunk. She expected to feel anger, but all that came over her was a resigned weariness. "Meredith Sullivan. I go to school with her—or I did, anyway. Tyler killed her?"

Bed slumped tiredly. "Like I said, it couldn't be helped."

"Okay, but now that he's killed . . . what makes him any different than your brother?"

Color returned to the man's face. He seemed to rise in height a bit, or maybe just morale. "It's completely different. Gabe had a sickness about him. It was there before either of us had turned. Changing just pronounced it is all."

Elena frowned. "But I thought you were born this way."

"We were. With the gene anyway, but it didn't surface till puberty." He shoved fluidly away from the counter and strode across the room only to plop down into the dining chair opposite her. "And the killer was always there inside Gabe, growing and intensifying." He wasn't looking at Elena anymore, not even paying attention to her. "The change furthered it along, made it worse, but it was Great-Great-Great Grandfather's stories that finally pushed him over the edge. Finding that journal was the worst thing that ever happened to us," he sighed, shaking his head and raking a hand through his haphazard hair.

"And Tyler?" she prodded, trying to keep her fingers from furling tensely into her palms.

Ben shook his head. "He's not like Gabe. He's a half-breed. You both are. And you're lucky. The animal instincts and the drive to hunt are easier to handle for you. With us purebreds . . . you could say we're more monster than man. That part of us is overbearing, whereas for your kind I think it's a lesser extent of that savageness, easier to cope with if you know what you're dealing with. And I do." He cast a glance toward the den and shrugged again. "Now that the kid knows the score, it won't be so bad. I'll help him learn how to control his wolf."

"It seems pretty instinctive to me," she said, and faintly regretted the harsh edge of her voice. "Last night was my first phase, and I didn't kill anyone."

"You're female," he grunted, like that explained it all.

She lifted an eyebrow. "Meaning I wouldn't understand?"

"No, you wouldn't. And I bet you killed something last night. Bet you sunk your teeth into flesh and blood before the moon was through."

"No," she said haughtily. But midway through lifting her chin, Elena faltered. She _had_ killed . . . a poor little white bunny. But it hadn't been _her_, not really. It'd been her wolf, which was why she hadn't even remembered it until now. And the memory of the warm coppery taste on her tongue and the way her wolf's fangs had torn into sinew and meat made Elena want to retch, even worse was that she could feel the way her wolf craved it.

That didn't sit well, not at all, and it was a damn good thing that she hadn't eaten yet today. But her internal dilemmas aside, a rabbit and a teenage girl were two completely different sins.

Tyler was a murderer. He _killed_ someone.

Then again, what was she to do about that? Did she have any right to judge him? After all, how many innocent people had Damon killed over his century and a half of hedonistic living? More than she'd ever allow herself to think about. He carried a lot of rage and pain in his heart, and hiding it beneath sharp edges of sarcasm and carefree amusement did nothing to lessen the damage he projected because of it.

Denial was the safest technique when it came to things like that. Yes, she was a major hypocrite. But she didn't know what to do about that. It wasn't like Damon had any interest in redemption. And her loving him despite that side of his soul was no better. By doing nothing to prevent it—not that she actually _could_—she was an enabler of every atrocity he committed.

She liked to think of herself as a somewhat good person. But she was deluding herself. She could see that now. And she wished to God that she hadn't noticed.

Sitting there, she realized just how much she wanted to _not_ think about—Damon's ways, her own newfound confliction with her wolf, Tyler, and so much else. For instance, she didn't want to think about that thing. It was still just the beast to her, not this Gabriel that Ben knew it as. And she certainly didn't want to open up the floodgate of thinking about what could've happened, or all the damage the monster had done before somebody finally put him down. Yet here she was, visiting with its brother. Was Ben the Stefan to the beast's Damon? Maybe, not that it mattered. Still, she couldn't help but wonder on things . . . a lot of which were territory better left uncharted.

"Could you chill a bit?" Ben asked, jolting her out of her thoughts. "You're giving me a headache."

"Huh?" She frowned, perplexed.

Ben rubbed two fingertips against his temple and shot her an odd look. "Part of the package," he muttered.

"Oh." Elena sunk down in her rigid dining chair, working somewhat surreptitiously on building walls around her mind. Between him and Damon, she just had too many people raiding her head. Though keeping Damon out was an easy fix, she just had to put her vervain locket back on. Why she hadn't yet was a question she didn't want answered.

"Again, girl, you're killing me. You're projecting way too intensely. Think light and fluffy, will ya?"

Elena sent him a dry look of indulgence. "I'll try." Then she got to her feet and moved across the room to pick up the white rose that lay on the countertop. The stem was a fresh evergreen shade and the bloom itself hadn't opened totally yet. Avoiding the thorns, she played with it in her hands as she paced idly around the room, basking in the warm touch of sunshine that brushed against her skin.

"Go ahead and ask," he said, waving his hand perfunctorily.

"Why did he go after me? I get why he wanted me once I was changing. But why did he go after me in the first place?"

"Wrong place, wrong time, I guess."

"That's it?" She stopped, feeling something bitter coiling low in her stomach. "Bad luck, that's the reason all of this has happened to me?"

Ben's shoulders moved again, almost lazy as he picked the half-eaten sub back up. "Don't know what to tell you, Gilbert. I just buried my brother six feet under back behind the shed in the backyard. Good thing Dad's not still around. I'd never hear the end of it."

Elena just hadn't a clue what to say to that, so she didn't bother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alaric felt the heady thrumming of Jenna's heartbeat rush through his awareness a few seconds before he heard the light rapping on the front door. And there was a part of him that wanted more than anything to go to her. Unfortunately, it was a significantly smaller part than the one that had him camped out on his sofa with a tumbler cradled loosely in his hand and a half-gone bottle of Jim Beam on the floor by his feet.

The curtains were all drawn and the little cottage-like house was completely dark, shuttered and dank enough to match his mood.

The front door creaked open and he took another sip of whiskey. "Rick? You in there?" she asked even as she poked her head around the door and found him. With a sigh, Jenna stepped in and shut the door behind her. "You're drinking?" She sounded skeptical. "It's not even noon yet. What's going on?"

Alaric tipped the thick glass up in a wobbly "cheers" move. "I'm celebrating," he slurred gravelly.

"Ah, is that what you're doing?" Jenna raised her brow at him, crossing the room in extra-slow strides. "I couldn't tell, because it looks so much like wallowing." Once she reached him, she let out a soft sigh and lowered into a crouch next to his scrunched out knees. "What's the occasion?"

He tried to shrug, and the move sloshed the amber liquid in the glass, spilling flecks onto her white blouse, which she ignored with a thinning of her pastel lips. "I finished it. It's over."

"What is, Rick?"

"Everything," he sighed and sagged even deeper into the sofa. "Y'know, I thought it'd be a res-ah-ooh-shin. Finally getting the man that killed Maggie. But now that I've done it, now that he's dead and it's all over with . . . there's no resolution." He shook his head to prove his point. "Nope, barely even any satisfaction, no sense of accomplishment. I don't feel resolved, or complete."

Jenna smoothed a delicate hand up his leg. "How do you feel, then?"

He was staring now at infinity over her head, his dark eyes glassy and gritty. He stayed unresponsive for a long moment until finally, he took in a small breath of air and let it out with a heaving _whoosh_. "Lost," he murmured. "I feel lost."

"You've been working on this for a long time, Rick. Hunting your wife's murderer has been your sole purpose. A difficult transitional period is to be expected." She slipped her hand up to the tumbler and laid it firmly over his. "You've just got to wait it out. You'll find your way quick enough."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do." With that, she pulled back and took a seat on the threadbare carpet of the floor, sitting cross-legged a small distance away. She wanted to comfort him, but knew that he needed his space. She couldn't fix this for him. That was something he had to do for himself.

Though she did wonder . . . _when should I admit that I know he's a vampire?_


	15. Breaking Dawn II

**Entry 15: Breaking Dawn**

**Part II**

A wild sprouting of bridal wreath spirea wound its way through the latticework pinned to the side of the Gilbert house. The blooms were a tiered virgin-white with deep green basal leaves. _It really is a pretty plant_, Elena mused while she stared at it from her spot, strewn sideways over one of the deckchairs on the patio. She'd only just lapsed into silence after her retelling of last night's excitement.

Jeremy was slumped in the second deckchair, staring off into space as it all soaked in. She turned her head and watched the chipped black nail polish on his fingernails as he tapped his hand against his knee. This was the second time today that she'd gone through the story—the first being for Bonnie and her grandmother. And somewhere between then and now, she'd come to terms with it all, maybe even accepted it.

A lot had changed over the last few months, like a mind-blowing sort of _a lot_. But as long as she didn't sit and dig into it too deeply, she found that she was pretty much . . . fine. There was nothing that she couldn't deal with. And really, instead of freaking out, she was just relieved that it was finally over. Hopefully now life would calm down and get back to normal, or as normal as life could be when you were a werewolf with two more vampiric pseudo-quasi love interests than you knew what to do with. She still had to figure out what she was going to do about Damon and Stefan. But that was a can of worms for another day. It wasn't a life-threatening problem—for the moment, anyway—so it would wait.

A more pressing matter was that analytical essay due on Monday. She had one night to crank it out, because she'd been so busy with all the chaos of the impending full moon that she'd completely forgotten about it. Maybe Caroline had . . . nah, it wasn't worth the trouble. She'd get working on it as soon as she was done with Jer. And on that note, Elena turned to find her little brother still dazing.

"Jeremy," she called softly. "Are you okay?"

He blinked, smoothed out his furrowed brow, and looked over to meet her curious gaze. "Can I see it?"

She arched her brow. "See what?"

"Well, you're a werewolf now, right? So, can't you—you know—do it for me?"

When comprehension clicked, she let out a sharp gasp of laughter and rolled her eyes at him. "I think so."

"So come on then." He jumped to his feet with an eager look in his eye.

She stared up at him for a long moment, deliberating.

"C'mon, Lena . . ." he urged.

At the excited sparkle in his big brown eyes, she gave a defeated sigh and let him haul her out of the chair. "I guess I could use the practice, anyway."

"Is it gruesome?" he asked excitedly, following her closely as she went inside through the backdoor and led him out of the kitchen.

"Not at all," she said, happy to disappoint him. "At least, it's not for me."

"Oh."

Once the front door had been locked and the curtains in the sitting room drawn, Elena grabbed the landline phone off an antique end table and tossed it at him. "Order a pizza," she demanded, then turned on her heel and headed for the hall bathroom.

"Why?"

"Because it takes a lot out of me," she called. "And I'm starved."

"Good enough for me." He shrugged, watching curiously as she locked herself in the downstairs bathroom. He made the call, and once one large—half four-meats for him, half Hawaiian for her—hand-tossed pie from Pizza Hut was on the way, Jeremy flopped down into the plush recliner in the corner of the room and waited.

"Alright," she said, coming into the room, wrapped in nothing but a bath towel.

Jeremy looked up and his eyes went wide. "_Whoa_—hello!" Frantically, he flung a hand up to shield his sight. "Where'd your clothes go?"

"The change is kind of rough with them," she defended. "I didn't want to ruin Mom's sundress."

"Well, just keep the towel up."

"I planned to," she deadpanned. "Now, do you want to see me shift or not?"

A few seconds went by before he hesitantly lowered his hand. When he looked back at her, his face was frozen with a cringe of anticipation, unable to decide whether to be excited about what was about to happen or grossed out by the possibility of his sister's nakedness.

"Okay." She nodded, took in a deep breath, and shut her eyes. The one and only time this happened, she'd been neck-deep in a panic attack and faced with a killer lycan. It'd just kind of occurred, and she was swept up for the ride. But it couldn't be that much different than going from wolf to girl, so she just focused on what she did this morning and reversed it. She thought about her wolf, the presence in her mind and the physical shape she'd taken last night.

In doing so, she woke the slumbering soul and felt that internal presence expand as the wolf took over and swept Elena into the warm touch of magic. It began with a sliver of shimmer that balled around her heart and rippled outward until a blanket of wavy glass-like light swaddled her. The rearranging of bone and ligament was numbed and smoothed by the magical shell as Elena's body disintegrated into the glow before reforming as the wolf.

When it was over with, she shook the dizziness from her head and padded around the coffee table toward her brother, who was frozen dumbfounded in his recliner, gaping at her. She sat down at his feet and placed a front paw on his knee, patiently watching him blink at her.

It was more than five minutes of this transpiring before Jeremy finally gulped back the saliva pooling in his mouth and reached carefully out for her. But when the shaky hand came to a halt a few inches short of her, Elena dipped her head and shoved it up under his hand, rubbing the silky fur at the crown of her skull across his trembling palm.

A gush of air burst from his lips and Jeremy's body went lax. "_Wow_ . . ."

Bobbing her head from side to side under his hand, she gave him a little yip of agreement, then brought both front paws up to prop herself on his legs and set her chin down. While Elena found it amusing to watch him stupefied, her wolf was growing impatient as she waited for him to admire her properly. After a few uncertain seconds, he scrunched his fingers in her thick fur and ruffed, laughing out loud at her respondent growl of appreciation.

"This is so cool," he decided finally, earning a pleased yip from the wolf as she nuzzled against his ruffling hand. He ruffled a bit around her ebony-dipped ears. "Y'know, we're gonna have to get you a kennel to put out in the backyard," he laughed. "And don't expect me to walk you—" With a breathy rumble, quick as a snake, she nipped him. And he jerked back with a surprised "Ow!"

But the glaring contest that followed was disrupted by the doorbell. The wolf's ears pricked up eagerly as Elena caught the heavenly whiff of hot pizza and gooey cinnamon breadsticks wafting from the front porch. While her stomach grumbled ravenously, she spun and hopped up onto the sofa, laying down flat to hide herself from view of the foyer.

By the time Jeremy came back into the room with a steaming cardboard box and a bag on top, she was more than ready to get back to human form. She leapt over the back of the sofa and loped into the bathroom while he dropped the food onto the coffee table and made a call to Aunt Jenna to find out what her plans were. Funny thing—as Elena shifted and slipped her dress and underwear back on in the bathroom, she heard both sides of the phone call without even intentionally eavesdropping. These new enhanced senses sure were a kick.

Jenna would be home soon, so they all unanimously decided to wait for her and eat together. Meanwhile, Elena camped out on the couch with Jeremy and channel surfed. It was useless—nothing good ever aired on Sundays—but nice and refreshingly normal.

Until Jeremy broke the comfy quiet with "So, how exactly are you gonna keep this from Aunt Jenna?"

Elena bit back a disappointed sigh and ran a hand through her wavy hair. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, she may not be Nazi Mom, but she's not a complete absentee. She's bound to notice all this weird shit eventually. And you being a werewolf now, well, that's kinda a big thing to try and hide from someone you live with."

"I know."

"So . . . ?" he prodded.

Elena heaved another sigh and let her head fall back against the sofa. "I don't know, Jer. I haven't even thought about it yet."

"Don't you think you should?"

"I will."

"Maybe you could be upfront about it," he suggested with a "no big deal" shrug and his eyes on the television.

"Look," she said adamantly. "It's bad enough that you know everything. Not that I'm not glad I can share this with you. But it puts you in danger. I'm not going to willingly drag Aunt Jenna into it too, not if I can help it. Involving you in this freaky stuff—the vampires and werewolves and witches and only God knows what else—it's a last resort sort of thing."

He shrugged again. "I get it. But she's gonna find out someday. All I'm saying is it might save a lot of trouble by just coming clean, even if it's only the werewolf thing. You don't have to mention vampires—then again, I kinda think you should, seeing as she's dating one."

"I want to," she admitted. "But it's better for her if she's kept in the dark."

"And that's a fool's dream, sis."

"I know . . ."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anna Dupré stretched out across the flimsy mattress within her dingy little motel room. If that damn boarding house wasn't currently occupied with the Salvatore brothers, she'd be lounging in an opulent guest's room right about now.

The last time she visited Mystic Falls, the boarding house was being run by a nameless descendant of the Salvatore line, while the brothers were off gallivanting through various continents, not a care in the world. Thinking about the suite she'd rented there the last time, Anna sneered with distaste at the space around her. She'd been stuck in this tiny hellhole for months now, because the Mystic Motel was the only travel lodge in this entire godforsaken town.

She could have so easily just found someone tasty that lived alone, whom she could compel into submission, gaining a decent place to stay and a steady bleeder all at once. She'd been holding off, though. Trying to be a good little girl.

Turning an innocent into a mindless blood slave was an action that left an acrid taint on her conscience. As an unlamented rule, Anna was a vampire that avoided killing when unnecessary. And enslaving wasn't much better. She hadn't even been comfortable with that style of living when it was appropriate and commonplace, back before the civil war. But if she was stuck in Mystic Falls for very much longer, her principles could take a hike.

Anna's silent griping session was cut short when the door swung open and a tall blonde man glided inside. In a sleek faded-pinstripe suit, his muscled frame appeared on the slender side. And his golden features carried a strong Mongoloid bone structure, somewhere between Native American and Middle Eastern with his prominent cheekbones and brow. Physically he was 33, and his handsome face held that rugged edge to show for it. In reality, though, he was a few decades younger than Anna herself. They'd been companions since 1820, off and on.

Initially, her mother had disapproved of her siring him. But there was nothing she could do, because it was a spur of the moment action taken when Pearl was not around. He'd been dying, and there was just something there that had made her _have_ to save him. Ultimately, it wasn't Sebastian's unerring charm that won Pearl over, but rather his self-sufficiency and dependable loyalty to her daughter. Since Pearl's entombment, he had grown even more protective of Anna. He often said that he believed it was his duty to keep watch over Anna until her mother returned and relieved him of the task.

He was also irrevocably in love with her, though that had never mattered.

"I've brought you something," he told her in that crisp English accent he'd carried since '42 London, lilting his lips.

Anna's face smoothed out from its grumpy scowl. She propped up on her elbows as he piled two garment bags onto the foot of the bed. In his other hand he held a small black box, which he set onto the dresser. She smiled. "What's this for?"

"Your debut," he said simply, turning his back on her as he stripped out of his jacket and dress shirt on his way to the bathroom for a shower.

Anna pivoted onto her knees and began unzipping the garment bag, licking her lips almost hungrily as she did so. "The Founder's Day Gala isn't for another two weeks, Sebastian."

"I was bored to tears. Besides, this gives you plenty of time to find something else, should it not satisfy you."

But Anna wasn't listening. She was too busy examining the snow-white evening gown he'd given her, rubbing the luxurious silk of it between her fingers. When he emerged from the bathroom to lean a shoulder against the doorjamb, she set the dress back into its protective case. "It's lovely."

He smirked. "Check out the other one."

She did as he asked, and found a little black mini-dress hidden in the folds of it. It was lace-layered nylon with a plunging neckline and an open upper backside. With an arched eyebrow, Anna held it up by the thin straps and sent him a curious look. "I don't think this would be appropriate."

"For the gala, no. But it is perfect for tonight."

"Tonight?" she echoed.

"Mm Hm," he replied. Then he turned and disappeared into the bathroom. The shower turned on and Anna meandered up to the open doorway as steam began to filter through.

"What is happening tonight?" she finally asked.

"I'm taking you out."

Her proceeding frown was suspicious. "Where?"

"Into the city," he said. "Don't worry. I would never jeopardize your work."

Anna cast a rueful look around the motel room. "It would be nice to get out for awhile. I'm so tired of being holed up in here . . ."

"Precisely the point of this evening, darling. You have all the time in the world to pore over those old journals, looking for answers. One night off won't ruin your plans," he promised.

Anna's eyes went to the pile of leather-bound diaries that sat on the nightstand and she grimaced as if pained. So far, she'd learned nothing about Emily or her grimoire. She wouldn't move on from these until she'd gone thoroughly through them, though. It was tedious work, but soon enough she'd find an entry concerning the night they burned the witch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pleasant hum of noise filled the house as Elena trekked up the stairs toward her bedroom. Jeremy had cajoled Jenna into playing on the Xbox with him. And the crackle of the zombie-hunter game echoed over the interspersing laughter and gibing of the two of them. The warmly familiar atmosphere thrummed through Elena, making her smile. The feel of home in the evening was something that had become rare this last year, since the accident.

She was headed up for her diary, planning to sit in the windowsill and catch it up on all that's been missed. But when she pushed open the door, she found Stefan waiting inside. His hair was ruffled like he'd been running his fingers through the soft waves, over and over again. And he had both hands shoved into the hip-pockets of his jeans while he paced, treading a path in her carpet.

Something sick like worry and panic and resignation mashed together slithered through her at the sight. With a small sigh, she stepped into the room and shut the door with a quiet click, falling back against it.

"Stefan?" she called softly. "What's wrong?"

When he turned to face her—his eyes taking a few seconds too long to focus—the churning in her stomach solidified. She hadn't seen him since last night in the woods. But this afternoon he was looking much worse, like he'd gone without sleep and food for too long and was working himself up into a fatigued frenzy. But Damon had said he was out hunting this morning, so the knowledge that he'd recently fed made it seem even worse.

"Elena."

"Yes?" she prodded tentatively, moving toward him.

He remained rigid, even as she closed the distance between them and slid a gentle hand up his arm. "I came to tell you . . ."

"Tell me what, Stefan?"

"I have to go down to Baton Rouge tonight."

Her hand dropped from his arm and she frowned. "I'm confused."

He let out a sigh and raked a hand through his hair, mussing it further. Then he turned and paced to the window. "When I came back after the fight last night, I found a message waiting for me."

"Stefan—"

"You remember Lexi," he said—more statement than question.

Images of a perky blonde vampire flooded through Elena's mind. Stefan's best friend, Lexi, the one Damon killed. What was going on? "Of course I do. Why?"

He turned around and met her worried gaze with a shuttered one of his own. "Her adoptive daughter, Skyler," he told her solemnly. "I haven't seen the girl since she was ten, but apparently Lex made sure she knew that if she ever needed help, I was someone she could call, no matter what. Now that Lexi's gone . . ." He didn't bother finishing.

Elena pressed her lips together and nodded, taking in a deep breath. She couldn't help the immense relief that washed through her. She wasn't sure what she thought was going on, but this was definitely better than whatever she'd been expecting. "What kind of trouble is she in?"

"That's just it. I don't know. She wouldn't say on the phone, insisted she see me in person as soon as possible." He turned back to the window, his shoulders squared and tensed. "It's about the worst possible time for me to leave town, but with what happened to Lexi, I owe the girl at least this much."

"What do you mean, worst possible time?" she wondered.

He sent her a wry look over his shoulder. "Yes, now's the perfect moment to disappear and leave you alone with Damon," he drawled dryly. "Or, rather, leave Damon alone with you."

Elena felt her spine arch. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Stefan sighed and shook his head at himself. "Exactly what it sounds like, nothing more, nothing less—I still don't trust that his motives are just what they seem. But at least . . . I don't think he'll hurt you, physically anyway. I trust him to keep you alive, but it's everything else I'm worried about."

"I can take care of myself, Stefan."

"I know you can. But you haven't known Damon that long. You don't know what he's capable of." His eyes met hers and she found them finally conveying what was going on in that head of his. "I am jealous," he said. "I'll admit that freely enough. But more than that, I'm worried about you. I know you care for him, and I don't blame you for that, but I also can't help worrying what exactly it is he wants with you. With Damon, things are very rarely as they seem."

"Stefan—"

"I just don't want you to get hurt, Elena. You're not like him. You're not like Katherine. You're too . . . too pure."

That raised her eyebrows.

"Open, Elena—open and genuine and unadulterated. If he's manipulating you, if something else is going on, then you're going to end up heartbroken. And there's nothing I can do to prevent it. That's the most infuriating feeling in the world."

Elena took a deep breath and shrugged off her jacket, then sunk to sit at the foot of her bed, staring at him. She didn't think it was possible to love this man any more than she already did. But she was wrong. "I'm not some naïve little girl, whether it seems like it or not. I can handle myself, Stefan. I promise."

He just looked at her with this hopeless expression, an edge of anger lingering beneath it. He didn't believe her, so there was no point in trying to persuade him. When the time came, he'd see she was stronger than he thought, in more ways than one. And if she did get her heart broken, she'd survive. Nothing was enough to shatter her. Or that's what she believed, anyway.

"I better go," he said, unmoving.

"When will you be back?"

"I don't know. Depends on what Skyler tells me."

She hesitated then, finding her throat uncooperative. She had to come to her feet and wrap her arms around herself before she could finally ask what she needed to. "Are you coming back?"

He didn't answer her immediately, only stared, his bright green eyes shining and smoldering with a banked intensity that made her heart race. A second went by, then he moved, and suddenly there was no space between them at all. His hands gripped her arms, dragging her up to him and smashing his mouth down onto hers, forcing her so unexpectedly into a kiss that was so charged it could've almost been called harsh. Such a departure from the gentle and sweet-tempered touches she'd come to expect from him. This was rushed and explosive with an urgent neediness that had been repressed for far too long.

When they finally broke apart, she was gasping for air to stave off the dizziness and reeling so badly she would've staggered had it not been for his firm grasp on her arms that kept her pressed flush into his rigid body. As their panting synced up, he rested his brow against hers, eyes fluttering somewhere indeterminable between open and shut.

"If you can't choose between us," he said in a ragged voice, his cool breath hitting her swollen lips. "And since Damon won't let you be." He took in another sharp breath and his fingers flexed tighter around her arms, possessive and obstinate. "Then I'll be damned if I'm going to be the one to walk away."

She swallowed thickly, fighting for her voice back. "Stefan—"

One large hand came up and cupped the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, and he forced her mouth back to his for a short but firm press of their lips. Against her mouth he swore, and pulled away just enough to look her dead in the eye. "I won't lose you, Elena."

And then he was gone, and she was left swaying unsteadily on her feet, fighting for breath, blinking at her open window as the sheer of the curtains rustled in the chilly afternoon breeze.

_So_, she thought with a sense of benumbed reverie . . . _Baton Rouge, huh?_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First came the yelling, and countering, and maneuvering of words, which had quickly delved into near violence. But it was when the tension very nearly boiled over into an implosion that things really got going.

Nicholas was right in the middle of rehashing her betrayal of trust when Grace shoved at his chest with all of her meager humanly strength. That did no good, so she furled her fist and swung. Instead of taking the punch, as he usually did, Nicholas trapped her wrist in the bruising circle of his hand and jerked her to him. When their bodies bumped, he curled his other hand around the nape of her neck and forced their mouths together.

"Nico," she ground out against his tongue, then tore her face away and gasped for air, slapping at him. "Bastard, this solves nothing."

But he was already tugging at her clothes and backing her up into the ratty motel bed. "This won't _be_ solved. I'm not leaving until I get what I came for."

"What is that, exactly?" she asked, struggling and panting for air as he took her earlobe between his teeth and sucked, while his hands went about ripping her blouse open, sending broken buttons flying in the process.

"You know," he grunted.

"No, I don't. You say this is about me. But that would make it even more insane than it seems. Either you are being—_ah_, dang it, Nico, stop—utterly ridiculous. Or something else is going on."

After he tugged her shirt down her arms and tossed it aside, he fisted a hand in her ruby-red curls and forced her head back, exposing the hollow of her throat to him. "We're not having this discussion again, Grace. Be quiet."

Scowling, even as his mouth grazed down to her collarbone and made her hormones swoon, she placed her hand softly on his cheek and sent a zinging _zap_ of electrical current through him, azure sparks lighting up the room from her fingertips. Then she shoved, and he went tumbling backward onto the floor, quivering under the shock.

"Don't you tell me what to do," she snapped. "I'll be quiet when I dang well feel like it. And that won't be until you fess up."

Shaking his head, Nicholas pushed up off his back and sent her a lethal look. To which she glowered right back at. "Why did you even come here?" he asked in a low voice, too tightly wound. "I told you I'd be back by Gran's birthday."

"But you wouldn't have, Nico." She sighed, loosening a bit, and moved closer. Slowly, Grace set a foot on either side of his hips and lowered herself down to straddle his lap. As she ran her fingers through his warm sandy-blonde hair, she said, "Something very bad is about to happen."

"Your foresight is not always precise," he countered, winding an arm tightly around her waist and playing patterns along the bare skin of her back.

"This one was not nebulous, Nico." Feeling the anger seep out of her, Grace melted against him, gripping at his shoulders and resting her forehead against his throat. "Why can't we just go home?"

"Because I'm not finished here," he told her firmly. "Damon—"

"So talk to him, already."

"Talk?" he balked, pulling back and forcing her to raise her face to him.

With a weary sigh, Grace shook her head. "This has nothing to do with revenge, Nico. You miss your friend. Go and talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Explain how much his betrayal hurt you."

"I wouldn't say _hurt_," he groused defensively. "_Bothered_, if anything."

"Just be a man and confront him genuinely. Stop pretending that this is about me and step up. You can't solve everything by killing people."

Nicholas lifted his chin. "I beg to differ."

"Either you get over yourself—or we go home right now," she declared.

"Don't speak as if you control me, woman."

Suddenly, she was on her feet, still with him stretched out between her legs, and towering down over him. When she replied, her eyes were deadly serious. "I could make you. You know I could."

His face shuttered dangerously, a mask that revealed absolutely nothing. "You wouldn't do that."

"Oh?" She arched her brow, hands on her hips. "Don't think I'm strong enough?" she asked in a "just try me" tone.

He shook his head. "Tampering with freewill is forbidden sorcery. You'd never risk disappointing your Gran like that."

"If it meant your life, I would."

"What makes you think I'm in danger?"

"I told you! Something bad is going to happen, and if you're still here when it does . . . you might not survive."

"Your foresight is about as reliable as tea leaves, Grace."

"Why can't you just trust me? I know what I'm talking about. Jeez, don't you respect me enough to take me seriously? This isn't one of our games, Nico. This is important. I need you to _believe_ me."

Nicholas waited a long moment, searching her eyes. "I do," he finally said, and then he sighed and sank back onto the gritty carpet. "All right, _cara mia_, all right. I will go speak with Salvatore."

"And then we'll blow this joint?" she asked hopefully.

He discovered a genuine smile and gave it to her at the almost childlike vulnerability shining from her in that moment. "Yes, we will leave. Satisfied?"

Grace's grin turned sly as her Irish eyes sparkled with mischief. "Not quite yet." And then she pounced.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The boarding house was quiet and still as dusk descended in the sky and the cicadas started singing.

When Elena slipped inside unannounced, she found the interior almost completely dark, besides the dim slivers of remaining daylight that snuck in from the second-story arc window in the stairwell that was visible as she crossed down the long entrance corridor. She bypassed the empty great room and made her way to the parlor, where she could hear the lulled crackling of fire in its hearth. The heavy drapes were drawn closed, and the orange glow of the flames cast tints through the shadowy room.

She stopped under the rich cherrywood archway and found Damon sitting in front of the fire. He was slouched lazily over one of the sienna chaises, sideways across its length, cradling a wavy glass in his hand as he stared off into infinity. He was sipping bourbon. Laced with blood, or that's what her nose told her. It was still freaky the way the world seemed so enhanced now. Just last week it would've been impossible, nay, unthinkable for her to sort through the heavy musk of whiskey and the coppery tang of blood, and from all the way across the room, too!

Elena allowed herself a moment to take him in. He was facing away from her, centered against a serene backdrop. He'd probably heard her car when she'd arrived, and he knew she was standing behind him, yet he still hadn't acknowledged her. Not that she'd expected him to. But standing halfway in and out of the room, staring at the back of his head, she felt a pang of self-doubt.

Maybe she shouldn't have come. Lying in bed, catching her journal up on all that had been missed . . . she'd finally realized what that steady churning in her stomach was for. And now here she was—doing something about it. Even though the majority of her was roiling at the thought of what she was about to do. She _so_ didn't want to do this—

—but she had to.

Without any more psyching up, she took in a deep breath and waltzed into the room as if she hadn't a care in the world, heading first for the windows. Once she'd jerked the drapes open and let in the sunset, Elena turned to face him. "What're you doing?" she asked lightly, shifting her feet.

Damon tipped the glass of bloody bourbon to his lips and downed a bit more, his aquamarine eyes glinting in the firelight. He didn't even bother to look up at her, not like he was avoiding it, more that he was too lazy or disinterested. "Stefan's not here," he said in a thick and husky voice that had her hormones doing an antsy dance for attention.

"I know." She shrugged, flipping her wavy hair back and strolling toward him. "He's on his way to Louisiana by now."

"Then what are you doing here?"

She was almost directly in his line of sight now, and still he just went on staring into the flickering flames of the stone fireplace. "I came to see you, what else?"

"What do you need?"

Elena couldn't hold in her huff of agitation. "I just want to talk." She spun on her heels and paced away from him. "_I'm_ not the one with perpetual ulterior motives."

"Oh no?" he countered, and the raised brow was the first touch of expression he'd given her so far.

By now, she could recognize the opening to an argument from him, and it made her keep her mouth shut. Bickering would only delay the inevitable, and she'd have rather not given herself more time to cut and run. So instead of taking his bait, she sauntered back to him and lowered herself to her knees between his legs. The carpet was plush but scratchy through the flimsy material of her rayon sundress. And the fine hair on her bare arms bristled at the frisson that passed between them when she dropped her elbows over his denim-clad thighs.

In this position he had no choice but to meet her eyes . . . and what she saw in those curtained windows to his soul sent shivers up her spine. She knew he was in a dark mood this evening the second she'd stepped into the room, if not before. But that dark burn of intensity in his eyes pinned her down and stripped her bare, hinting at something much more than his average gloom.

Finding it hard to remember to breathe as he stared into her, Elena shifted around until she was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, her back against the chaise and her arms hooked over his knees. The prickle of his gaze settled on the nape of her neck, making her pulse race, but at least she could think now.

Question was: how to start. She wasn't even sure what she was going to say. And she had no idea how he'd react. She needed to know. Damn it, why couldn't she read his mind? Why couldn't he at least let that stony mask slip a little and let her in, just a bit, just once? How easier this would be if she knew where he stood.

But if she asked, she'd get either no answer at all, a witty barb, or a dangerous lie. None of which she wanted or was willing to accept. So she'd have to go in blind, as she very nearly _always_ did when it was Damon.

With a resigned sigh, Elena slipped her arms down to her side and tangled her fingers in the pant legs of his jeans. "About the tomb below Fell's Church," she began. Her voice was soft, gentle, and carried an air of bravery and stubbornness.

Damon stiffened; she felt it through the tightening muscles in his thighs against her shoulders. He upended the glass of liquor and drained it dry, then tossed it over her head, where it shattered in the fireplace—an effortless yet perfect aim. "I'm not in the mood," he told her sharply, as if that would shut her up.

Elena watched the shards of broken glass glitter kaleidoscope colors below the simmering flames. "And I am?"

"Elena," he warned on a hiss of angry exhaled air.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and pressed her back into him with a lifted chin. "You said a few days ago that there are more vampires in town, people who want to free the entombed ones."

"Just little Anna," he snapped. "She causes trouble with the best of 'em but she's hardly a threat."

"If it's really her mother down there—no matter who or what she is or how long she's lived—she won't give up."

"The witch's crystal is gone."

She shook her head, refusing to be dismissed. "You said there was another way."

He heaved another irritated sigh. "It's none of your concern."

She pivoted around to face him then, hands gripping the course fabric of his jeans. "The hell it's not!"

"Elena—"

"I know that you know, Damon. Why won't you just tell me?"

He lifted a dark eyebrow for her. "So you can go running to Saint Stefan?"

"Why would I do that?" she challenged, coolly arching her brows at him, even as her jaw locked with frustration. She waited a moment and let him search her face for whatever it was he was looking for. Then she licked her lips and forced her body to unclench. "I don't have an agenda, Damon. I just want to know," she said softly, patiently, imploringly.

There was something hard and dangerous shining through his eyes at her. She could see the skepticism, the suspicion, but stronger than that was his curiosity. "The spellwork Emily cast to imbue that crystal with the power to break the tomb's seal had to have been recorded. A witch never does _anything_ without preserving it, no matter what sort of craft they practice. And if that spell is in her grimoire, then a reversal incantation would probably be as well."

Elena frowned. "Grimoire . . ."

He cast his eyes away from her and shrugged, shaking off _almost_ all of that hard edge that was wrapped around him. "Book of Shadows, spellbook, a witch's cookbook, or whatever—basically a personal journal filled with incantations and recipes and information."

Elena's stomach turned to lead. Emily Bennett's spellbook held the key to opening the tomb . . . the key to bringing Katherine back. She didn't know what he saw in her eyes, but she made sure her voice gave nothing away. "What makes you think that book would still exist?" she asked, forcing dubious tones to counter the nausea that roiled inside of her like a sickness of the soul. "After a century and a half, what are the odds it was preserved?"

"A grimoire is sacred to their kind, and almost always protected by magic—from snoops, thieves, enemies and whatnot. It's not the kind of thing easily destroyed, even if you'd want to. Back then, superstition was a powerful thing. Emily was burned at the stake not long after the church's fire. But the townsfolk would've been too scared of what could happen to do anything to her grimoire. Hell, she probably told them she'd hexed it. Or she actually did hex it."

"But you don't know where it is?"

He turned back to her then, looking down at her, watching her closely. "No."

_If I did I wouldn't be sitting here with you_ was what she was afraid of hearing. _Is that what he's thinking? _ Elena wondered. It was the truth, wasn't it? No matter how much it upset her, she couldn't get lost in self-denial.

Damon was obsessed with _Katherine_. Damon _loved_ _Katherine_. He'd said as much himself. If she hadn't had Katherine's looks, he would've killed her the first time they met. This had always been about Katherine. She'd let herself forget that for a time, but she couldn't ignore it any longer. Her time of self-delusion was up. Her time with Damon was running out.

And would Stefan feel the same? He claimed to have never loved Katherine. He was convinced that it had all been her compulsion, nothing real. But was that it? Or were they both in love with their maker? When the time came, would Elena lose them both? She didn't want to know. She was terrified of the answer. And even worse, she couldn't fathom how she'd take it if and when it happened. Would she fall apart? Would she weather through? There was a twisted sense of curiosity within her as she wondered what it would feel like. Would it be like getting her heart ripped out? Like losing a part of her soul? Or maybe it would be that sucking black hole of an abyss that swallowed her up after her parents died.

Only time would tell.

But this was what she came here for. Because she had two options: she could refuse to give him up, and fight to keep Katherine trapped in that tomb, take on these new vampires in town, and take on Damon himself . . . or she could do the right thing.

It was one hell of a battle, and even before she opened her mouth the wolf in her head was howling, riling up, _raging_. But nothing was going to change her mind. If she could deal with this dizzy nausea, this avid pain and anger, then so could her wolf. Still, she'd have rather ripped her hair out than gone on. "Do you even know where to look?" she asked, getting up onto her knees between his legs, propping her palms on his thighs. "Do you have any idea?"

Damon's dark brow pulled down, furrowing, as if he was trying to figure out what she was up to. "Some."

_Stop right now. Don't you dare do this,_ sister wolf hissed._ Make it clear, tell him he's yours . . . she can't have him. _Elena's hands tightened into an almost bruising grip on him, but she gritted her teeth and shut out the incensed voice. This was hard enough as it was.

"Elena," he rumbled, jerking her attention back to him. "_What's that?"_

"Huh?"

"You're suffocating me with that damned aura," he ground out through his teeth. And it wasn't until that second that she noticed his hands had balled into fists and blood was trickling between his knuckles only to drip down onto his wine-colored silk shirt.

"Sorry," she rasped, swaying until she found her forehead resting heavily against his hip. She was practically—no, actually—bent over his lap, and trembling with the effort it took to keep herself from imploding. As if this heady, agonizing, overwhelming rush of emotion was so powerful she would physically _break_ herself into jagged pieces if she could not get a handle on herself. She'd never felt anything so powerful, and she knew it was because of the wolf that she couldn't shut out that conflict—that struggle of _despair_ and _need_ and _panic_ and _resistance_.

Damon's hand fell to the back of her head, scrunching in her silky mane, and there was just something so intensely intimate about the touch that brought her attention to the physical reality around her. How tightly she was gripping him—a bone-breaking pressure; how the feverish heat of her body collided with the cool touch from him, echoing relief over her unbearably damp flesh; not to mention the taut firmness of his sudden erection against the curve of her neck as she fought for air. A thrill of desire rippled through her, up her spine and all the way down to the tips of her toes, awakening every synapse and nerve ending until her entire body was nothing but an overwrought live wire.

The wolf _wanted_. Elena wanted, too. But she couldn't fall apart, she just couldn't. She was better than that.

"I didn't come here to freak out on you," she swore in a breathy voice that would have made her eyelids flutter and her knees give out into melted heat had it come from him. When she managed to force herself upright, her lips broke apart at the sight of him staring down at her. His stark aquamarine irises had gone as obsidian as a moonless night, the whites of his eyes colored with the crimson shade of blood. She watched the veins below his lashes grow varicose as they surfaced and ran red with his bloodlust. Things were getting a little _too_ out of hand.

"Then what did you come for?" he demanded, his voice nearly a growl that had shock-tingles dancing unsettlingly along her skin.

"I came to tell you . . . that . . . that if getting into that tomb to Katherine is what you really want . . . then I'll help you."

Damon's feral expression froze with shock he was too blindsided to cover. His fists moved to curl around the edge of the chaise on either side of him, and the crack of wood resounded through the parlor. "_Why_?" He had to _drag_ the word out.

Instinctually, Elena crawled up into his lap before she even knew what she was doing, forcing the sundress to hike up nearly around her waist. Straddling his hips, she curled her hands in the material of his silk shirt and pressed her face into the cool surface of his throat, making his Adam's apple quaver once or twice. "Because I love you," she told him quietly, simply.

His hands went to her waist, closing over her curves almost bitingly. He was tensed against her, taut and brittle enough to shatter. "_Elena_ . . ."

Her fingertips dug into him, her face still hidden in his neck. She could feel the tears of frustration and pain welling up, liable to brim over at any moment. To pull herself from the edge, she turned her face against him and worked her mouth over his cool flesh, kissing and nipping and gnawing, making her hips roll achingly against him, which in turn made his hands slip down and urge her almost desperately, grinding the gossamer fabric of her panties against the rough denim of his jeans and the contrasting needy heats beneath.

Just the thought of what was to come was _killing_ her. She didn't know if she could bear it, which was surprising. She wasn't the kind of girl to let someone _break_ her. But somewhere down the line she'd allowed herself to become dependent. She also wasn't the type of girl to just step aside and let go of what she wanted—_needed_. But that was what she'd decided to do. Why? _Good question._

As that mindless need of lust swept over her, making her throb and ache, Elena felt the wolf mingling into the forefront, fighting for control. With a determined hardening, she hurried to commit to the decision she'd made before she completely lost herself.

"I don't believe she'll make you happy," she murmured fiercely against the sensitive spot behind his ear. While Elena struggled to get out what she needed to, the wolf slipped in to dominate her movements. "But_ you've wanted her for so long. _I _won't_ stand in your way. I refuse to be that person."

He let out a raspy noise of buckling restraint when her fingers twisted in his mess of ebony hair, forcing his head back to give her a better angle at his throat. They were both panting and writhing against one another, sinking under the pressure of hazy need.

"Just _don't_ go behind my back about opening that tomb, you hear me?" Her voice sharpened into a threat before dropping back to that strained—almost pleading—tone, while her hands dipped beneath his shirt to ride up along the hard ripples of his torso. "No secrets. Just be upfront with me, _please_, and I'll do whatever I can to make sure it happens."

"_Elena_ . . ." he groaned in a dangerously shaky voice as his hands closed over her shoulders, thumb stroking yearningly across her pulsating carotid artery and up along the curve of her jaw. He was teetering on the edge, using up every last ounce of his control, burning through every safeguard inside him.

Tangled waves of mahogany tresses fell over her shoulders to splay irritatingly over him—filling his senses with warm satin brushes, saffron and vanilla and ginger aromas, and the unmistakable taste of dark chocolate on his pallet—when she dipped her head down and trailed her teeth across his collarbone, moving downward until she had his lifeless heart beneath her tongue.

Finally, she pulled up and forced him to look into her eyes, hands settling on either side of his neck, a light touch that soothed some deep/dark part of her. Breathlessly, she promised . . . "But I'm warning you. If she turns out to be the raging selfish bitch that I think she is, who doesn't care about anyone but herself, I won't be held responsible for my actions."

The crimson in his eyes receded and Damon blinked at her for all of one second before he latched onto her throat, forcing her face up even as he thrust her backward. The weight of her body depended solely on his arm across her back to keep her from falling. She gasped, clutching at his sides when he ground his hips up into her, almost punishingly.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded scornfully. His eyes flared with fury and accusation, as if he thought she was playing him. Didn't he know by now that her mind just didn't work like that?

She was ripping herself apart for him and all he could do was seethe at her? The wolf was fighting to rise up, to overthrow him, to defy . . . and Elena realized, somewhat offhandedly, that her wolf viewed Damon as dominate to her. That urge to defy was rebellious, not righteous.

She pressed her thighs into him, trying to gain leverage against her precarious position. "_Trying_ to do the right thing," she bit out, arching her back and lifting her chin. His grip on her throat was softer than it would have been a month ago, but no less substantial. "You've spent a hundred and fifty years waiting to be with her again . . . and here's your chance." Her hand went to his at her throat, fingernails digging in like bitter claws as she glared up at him. "What is it exactly that I'm supposed to do? Act entitled, affronted, scorned?" she snapped, gritting her teeth. "I don't expect you to understand the concept," she sneered. "But when you love someone, Damon, you actually _want_ them to be happy. It's important to you, because that person _matters_ to you, more than yourself."

He let out a derisive scoff, sharp and hard, and it hit her like those broken shards of glass in the fire, aggravating her, stoking her fury. "Is that what you think?" he drawled.

"What I _know_," she countered unflinchingly.

"Always the martyred little angel," he abased with a touch of bitterness. "You and Stefan are perfect for each other, with your—"

She felt the tear like ice against burning skin as it slid down her cheek, catching at the corner of her angrily pursed mouth. She blinked rapidly, willing the rest of them away, but it only made them spill quicker.

His other hand came up to brush the wetness away. The cold gleam of his gaze dulled, and she watched through bleary eyes as the angry sheen of his face softened, fading with a look of comprehension and surprise, then finally a hungry crescendo of all that denied craving that had been built up between them since the moment they met.

With one sharp explosion, he leapt to his feet, knocking her off of his lap, and followed her as she pivoted down to the floor, smacking onto her back with a ringing echo of impact. He was on her, pressing her into the hardwood with his weight and strength while ferocity and need ate away at them.

The sound of seams splitting and fabric tearing should have alarmed her, but she was too deep under to muster up even a moan of sadness for the ruined tatters of her mother's sundress. Surely, she'd mourn later.

Lacy bra unimportant, he fisted a hand in her emerald boyshorts and the flimsy material gave out under one distracted tug. She was wet and throbbing and already so unbelievably sensitized by this point that when he absently brushed the back of his hand against the folds of her core, she nearly lost it then and there. As it was, her spine bowed and her body shuddered convulsively while a breathy noise—somewhere between a gasp, a moan, and a scream—vibrated up her throat and past her swollen lips.

Elena writhed and wriggled impatiently beneath him as he tore through his belt and the clasp of his pants to free himself. And if anyone tried to tell her later on that she had mewled—practically purring for him as he drew his hands up from her wrists, forcing her arms up over her head and stretching her body taut beneath him—she would never admit it.

She drew her legs up and hooked her thighs over his hips, heels digging in as she strained open for him. It was like a symphony of sensation was rippling through her, a tidal wave that had sucked her up into the undercurrent and refused to relent. When he _finally_ buried himself inside of her, a pulsating length of hot hardness that stretched her core, filling that near-pain empty ache, the tidal wave shifted into a tsunami. She threw her head back and basked in it, meeting him thrust for thrust, each move of their hips bringing him deeper, even at the relatively soft angle of their bodies together there on the floor by the fireplace.

"Elena," he chanted, dipping down to force her into a rushed and sloppy kiss that she arched up to hold on to, delving into his mouth and sucking out that taste of blood and bourbon, of salty tang and hot cinnamon, of Damon.

His canines sharpened, nicking the inside of her lip and drawing blood. As he laved it up, she ran the tip of her tongue over his fangs, tentative and exploratory, wanting—_needing_—to familiarize herself with every inch of him.

With one of his hands still wrapped around her wrists, holding them above their heads, he slipped the other down and fisted it in a clump of her matted hair, stroking the soft pad of his thumb against her high cheekbone and across her fluttering lashes, his heady tempo momentarily descending from _ramming_ to _sinking_ as he drew her lids open and their eyes locked. Almost going lax beneath his many ministrations, Elena shivered helplessly.

There was something so innately intimate about looking into someone's eyes during sex, so much more intimate than the dance of bodies itself even, that it felt almost _supernaturally_ breathtaking.

_Mine_ . . . sister wolf declared, powerful voice whispering through the clouded recesses of her mind.

_Not really_. _Not for long_, Elena had to admit, even as her fingertips dug into the corded muscle of his back. She clung to him and tried to survive the onslaught while he drove into her at a rough-and-ready pace that had her keening with an open-mouthed storm of bleary sensation.

That hard edge of _pain_ and _acceptance_ and _anger_ roiled through her again, ripping through Damon's unbearably delicious rhythm, raising more tears to her eyes, intensifying the already impossibly paramount madness—an experience one might call rapture, though the word just couldn't suffice.

But when he sensed her distraction, Damon cupped a hand around the nape of her neck and jerked her mouth back to his, thoroughly, mercilessly, carnally dominating her, chasing away every thought and emotion, and drowning her in the desperate melody of their bodies. Corny but completely accurate, she realized. They stayed pressed together that way, open-mouthed and panting into each other even after the kiss had ended, while he slammed into her and she gasped out a chorus of unintelligible noises, jerking sharply with the impact every time he forced his way into her, both driving and striving for that pinnacle as the consuming pressure just kept building and twisting.

He released her wrists and locked his arm around her waist a split-second before he launched them up and over. He landed with his back against the carved stone of the hearth, still inside of her as she straddled his lap. Her hands hit the stone on either side of him when her body bowed, head falling backward as he took her hips in his hands and eased her into a more languid pace, all the more powerful due to the sharper angle of them now.

They could have gone for hours that way and she would've never been able to tell. She couldn't say just how many times he brought her to that wild peak, just a sliver short of climax, and then lulled her back down only to build her up again. How many times, she had no idea. But when he did finally push her over the edge, she thought she might truly die—no melodramatics about it. They fell into one hell of an orgasm together, and came down from the high shivering and utterly depleted. They fell in a tangle of limbs to the floor and stretched out by the dwindling fire.

Panting and still tingling, Elena rolled onto her back, now lying sideways away from him with her head propped up against his stomach and his limp arm flung diagonally across her chest, drawing absent patterns along the sweaty flesh of an upper mound and making her shiver.

After all of that, all she could say was . . . "_Jesus_."

His resultant chuckling sent vibrations from his chest zinging pleasantly through her. He caught a tendril of her hair that was sticking to him and twirled it around his finger. "Not quite, princess."

The flame of the fire died out, leaving them in shadowy darkness. Waning moonlight streamed through the massive window that arched high above the room, basking the two of them in silvery azure rays. Her wolf reveled in its touch, sated and dreamy. And for the first time, Elena felt a pure symmetry between the wolf and the girl. It was not what she came here for.

But she could definitely get used to this.


	16. To Forget But Not Forgive

**Entry 16: To Forget But Not Forgive**

Damon awoke to a sharp ridge digging into his spine. The surrounding ache told him this ridge had been digging for a significantly long time. But that wasn't what woke him. Sun was shining through the arched window around the crook of the stairs and streaking down toward him. The flutter of morning aves chimed in the woods around the house. From the heat of the sunlight near him, he'd say it was barely an hour past dawn.

He picked his head up off a padded riser, cringed at the resonating kink, and frowned. How on earth he had passed out sprawled across the mid-landing of the stairwell was anyone's guess. No, wait. He knew exactly how he'd ended up here. _Elena_. They'd been headed for a bedroom, but they never quite made it—obviously. But still, he should have at least taken her up afterward, not subjected her to _this_.

Not that she seemed to mind. Her body was practically humming with comfort. Her sleep was sound and impenetrable, and her muscles were lax against him, not a kink or knot of pain in the lot of her. The press of her warm flesh against his was as glorious as it was simple. Her heartbeat pulsed against his skin like a tangible touch, trilling its lazy rhythm of contentment over him. A soothing whisper rather than a raging siren's call for his bloodlust, he realized.

"_Uh_," he groaned, trying to pick himself up. He got about as far as sitting before he found himself trapped by Elena's deadweight. But at least the relief from staircase biting into his back allowed the deep ache to heal, taking the stiffness in his body with it.

No matter how distracted he'd been last night, Damon was a creature of comfort. He must've been half dead from exhaustion to have fallen so firmly asleep here of all places, forgoing his ultimate goal of getting her into a bed. He hasn't ever known a werewolf up close and personal before, and though he knew since the change her stamina had increased, he had no idea just how thoroughly she'd be able to wear him out. It just made him want her all the more, if that were possible.

_Damn it_, he was in so much trouble. He'd gone into this planning on remodeling her. He was to sculpt her like a work of art, shifting the Elena he knew into someone more enviable, a creature he could deeply enjoy himself with. He'd been intent on _using_ her . . . Instead she'd insinuated her infuriating little self into him until she was so deeply seated in his awareness that she was now a part of his being. It felt natural—having her—so much so that he hadn't once even had the mind to consider what it would be like if she were gone from his life.

Somehow, at some indistinct point along the line, everything blew up in his face and went all to hell. And now what the fuck was he supposed to do with her? He was so close to what he'd been waiting for, literally, his entire life. They were in the endgame now, and suddenly he wanted to switch oppositions?

_No_, he thought vehemently with a stubborn shake his head. This was just an infatuation. No more, no less. It would fade, and then he would've lost his one chance at reclaiming his beloved for nothing more than a passing fascination. He couldn't let this little girl confuse him.

So what if Elena meant something to him? It was probably just projection, anyhow. And he'd wanted to steal her away from Stefan, hadn't he? Sure, it didn't work out exactly how he'd intended. But at least he'd gotten her. That counted for something, especially considering how they all started this little game—her irreparably in love with his insufferable little brother and avidly despising everything Damon stood for. Maybe he hadn't stolen her affections from Saint Stefan. But he'd gotten her to fall in love with him, too. And considering the fact that he's been too busy this last month with all the werewolf drama to concentrate on any machinations he might've had to begin with, it was a pretty impressive accomplishment. After all, he hadn't even been trying. Not really.

"Talk about being careful what you wish for," he drawled.

"_Mm_," she murmured from her place tangled around him, jerking him from his thoughts. He glanced down to watch her sleep-softened face scrunch before she wiggled around and curled up on herself, giving him her backside.

_Even in her sleep I can displease her_, he thought with a rueful shake of his head. He was going to get onto his feet, but he paused to watch the way the golden light danced over her bare back, etching patterns into the creamy caramel of her skin. He thought back to last night . . . to the hours he spent familiarizing himself with that body, running his hands and mouth over every inch. He recalled the downy texture of the honey-hued curls between her thighs, and—just to double-check—curved his arm over her hip to delve his fingers into the unruly thatch. She stirred, sighing and arching her neck, but she didn't wake.

Her dark hair was matted into a rat's nest of crimps, and still it spilled across her flesh like silk—

_Son of a Bitch_, he nearly growled as he ripped his eyes off of her and turned his head toward the wall. What was happening to him? What the fuck was he doing? Letting her . . . no, he couldn't blame this particular lapse in sanity on her. She hadn't forced him to admire, and the resultant warmth that threatened to liquefy him wasn't her doing either. This was all on him.

"_Because I love you_," she had said. He'd made her cry . . . no, she made herself cry as she offered up her services for setting the entombed vampires free. She came to him determined to give him Katherine back. Even the riling of the wolf hadn't dissuaded her. He'd felt the heady rush of her turmoil as it had emanated off of her with the scent of jasmine and fresh rain. And even that torrent of emotion hadn't been able to touch her resolve. When Elena set her mind to something she believed in, there was not a soul or power on earth that could shake her.

She wanted him. She loved him. Yet she was going to help him release Katherine, even though she knew what that would mean. Damn it all to hell, he just couldn't understand this girl. Why was she doing this? What did she expect to gain? Did she think playing the part of the martyr was going to make him love her? That being selfless for him would convince him to choose her? To forsake the woman that made him who he was? It would make sense from a certain mindset, but it just wasn't believable coming from Elena. She wasn't a manipulative person, and if she'd decided to try she would've come up with a better plan of action.

He'd give the girl one thing though, she possessed an uncanny ability to take his breath away. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. But one thing was certain—there was no way he was about to waste the coming days. If he had to let her go once Katherine returned, then he was damn well going to enjoy her now.

He hadn't so much as finished that thought before Elena swung upward, almost violently. Preternatural reflexes had his arm shooting out and latching around her chest to keep her from pivoting away. There'd been no tells, nothing to suggest that she'd been waking. She went from REM sleep to dangerously alert from one second to the other. And it wasn't until the vibration of a noiseless growl rippled up his arm that he understood what was going on.

"Nicholas," he drawled with deceptive laziness. There was a sliver of unnerving surprise as he followed her gaze down to find his old friend perched in the corridor. That must have been what woke him, but he hadn't even noticed. _Not_ good.

"Morning, Salvatore," the other vampire chimed in an airy voice while he examined his cuticles. Silence swept over them for a brief moment before Nicholas raised his head. His dark eyes found Elena, and Damon's arm tensed as he felt her slanting. She was ready for violence—_wanted_ it about as bad as he needed blood when the lust rose—but she was letting him hold her back.

Nicholas's lips twitched. "Lovely to see _you_ again, little wolf."

The air in the room changed, thickening with the threat that seeped from her steady stare. Damon's brow furrowed, sensing the pressure that weighed against him, and leaned a bit to glance at her face. What he found there both worried and amused him. Her normally rich hazels were missing, replaced by white pupils and crystalline azure irises—wolf eyes. Elena wasn't home right now.

"You've come for another beating?" he asked, his attention still stuck on the volatile wolf in his arms. She could break through his hold as easily as he could a human's right now. And as much as he'd enjoy the show, he didn't trust Nicholas. Besides, she was completely bare at the moment and, whether he approved or not, thought of the view Nic was getting chafed him something fierce—as ridiculous as that sounded, even in his own head.

The other vampire held up his hands in a passive gesture and slipped down off the antique sofa table he'd been propped on. "Not that I wouldn't enjoy another go-around, Grace is milling about outside somewhere. I believe I'd want an electroshock session even less than you would."

Damon felt a genuine smirk grow on his lips, so much so that he pulled his gaze from Elena and turned to face his old friend. "_Ah_," he said. "So she's got you on a kiss and makeup errand?" He gave a disappointed shake of his head. "Really, Nicholas, I thought better of you. Scared of one little witch, are you?"

Nic scoffed. "And you can honestly say you aren't?"

"Yes."

"Say that to her face then," he challenged, folding his arms across his chest as he meandered closer, itch by itch.

Elena's wolf was getting more wound-up by the moment, and Damon was seriously considering whether he should just tell her to have at it, regardless of the consequences. He remembered Nicholas's last visit, and though he usually wasn't one to hold a grudge, he couldn't help but want her to get to return the favor. It'd do a world of good at settling her down; that was for sure. But Grace was near. Now that Nicholas brought her to mind, Damon could sense her wandering the property. No matter how she and Nic were these days, he was still her mate and she would still be as protective as ever. If Damon let the wolf get her payback, they'd have a pissed off witch to contend with . . . a very powerful one at that.

_No_, he decided finally with a forlorn sigh. It just wasn't worth it. Not at the moment, anyway. "You might want to back up," he warned lightly just as Nicholas reached the mouth of the stairwell.

Nic's eyes went back to Elena, and with a tilted head, he absorbed her so deeply that it had Damon bristling with her. "Yes, I see. You've certainly got a way of taking on handfuls," he murmured.

"Nothing more than I can chew."

Nicholas smirked. "That remains to be seen," he taunted with an arched brow, even as he began backing away. "I'll be in the sitting room, once you've dealt with your wild one." And then he was gone.

Elena's wolf started to rise, needing to pursue. She shook off Damon's restraining arm as an irritated afterthought and he actually had to hurry in order to beat her to the lower landing. He blurred, cut in front of her, and locked his arms to create a blockade that stretched the width of the staircase. Her pale eyes narrowed fervently, contemplating violence.

"Take it easy," he coaxed, ignoring her rumbling growl when he stepped up onto the riser directly below hers and brought them so close there was barely a whisper of space between them. Even with her on the higher stair, he was a few inches taller, and he used that to his advantage as he attempted to stare her down. Not that it seemed to be doing much good, but he was persistent. "Shh," he whispered evanescently, brushing his hand through her messy hair, dusting it out of her face and tucking it behind her ear.

She arced backward, eyeing him with unimpressed suspicion.

"Let me handle this," he told her, making sure his tone wasn't overly authoritative though the burn of his eyes made sure to convey just exactly how _not up for debate_ this was.

She pursed her mouth and he watched her delicate brow furrow with indecision.

He knew it would take him a bit to adjust to Elena's wolf, to get to know her well enough to know just how to handle her, but he wasn't completely in the dark either. He already felt her as an innate presence, one he was convinced he had at least _some_ understanding of. He knew she wouldn't go against him unless she had good motivation. All he had to do was distract her from her thirst for violence.

"He's not a threat to you anymore. Anything else is mine to deal with." He paused to rake his eyes down her length. "Besides," he said softly, drawing a hand through her crimps of hair and pushing them over one shoulder to expose her breast to the chilled morning air of the house, "Elena will be waking soon. You wouldn't want her to come to in the middle of a scenario that might scar her."

She growled at him at that, through clenched teeth with a locked jaw, and lifted her chin as she curled her hands over the curve of his shoulders and forced him down to the final landing. Once there were at least five steps between them and she had the higher ground, Elena's wolf shot him an icy look of calm superiority. _You're not the boss of me_ that look informed him. Then she tilted her head and twirled around to pad unabashedly up the staircase. His eyes lingered on her until she'd turned into the second-story level of the stairwell and disappeared from view.

He hadn't given this aspect of Werewolf Elena much thought, but now that he'd been face to face with her wolf soul . . . he was anxious to explore. But first, he had to get rid of Nic.

On his way to the great room, Damon came across that pants he'd been wearing last night, belt still strewn through the loops, all seams still intact, which was more than he could say for the straps of plaid fabric that used to be his boxers. Keeping Nicholas's activity in the forefront, he listened to Elena forage for clothing on the third floor while he hopped into his dark-washed jeans and fastened them over his hips. Then he stepped into the great room, ready to deal with his old friend and whatever drama that might entail.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Monday morning without any classes was a magnificent thing. Too bad her alarm clock didn't get the memo, so Jenna was wide awake anyway. After a shower and refinishing her navy-blue nail polish, she made her way downstairs, figuring since she was up and had no place to be she ought to make breakfast for the kids before they headed off to school.

Still, she had some time to kill, so she dug out the old leather-bound journal that was hidden inside one of the stew pots in a cabinet below the island and settled on a barstool.

Maybe this would take her mind off Alaric, who had her worried; or Elena, who was scaring her. Rick just needed time, so there was nothing she could do about that. But Elena was a different story. The time was going to come when Jenna had to step up and get involved. She shouldn't even be procrastinating now, but she couldn't help it. If only the girl would come to her—tell her what was going on. Why wouldn't she know that she didn't have to hide anything? She knew something was going on. Running around with the Salvatore brothers was stressing enough to begin with, and that was _before_ Jenna found out they were vampires. Now, though, she was positively _freaking_ _out_.

Not to mention the fact that the more she read from this Katherine Pierce chick, the more scared she got. But if there was anything else in this book that could possibly be of use to her any time soon, then Jenna had to know.

God knows she'd wanted help. But when she tried to talk to Rick about it, he'd been so preoccupied with hunting the werewolf that killed his wife . . . well, it was no use. She was on her own until she got up the backbone to confront someone about all she'd learned from this diary. Which was why she couldn't stop until she'd read it all.

_Dear Diary, oh dearly beloved book. How relieved I am to have been able to preserve you. It is the last night of November and I am weary._

_I have been betrayed, you see._

_One of my boys has revealed my secret to their father, Giuseppe Salvatore, the head of the town council. It seems that my first departure from Mystic Falls all those years ago did not leave the town completely cleansed. Suspicions of vampire lingered long after I was gone and rejuvenated once our coven arrived. I knew Mr. Salvatore had begun to wonder about me, though I did not genuinely consider the possibility of Stefan or Damon condemning me to death._

_I do not know which it was or why, whether it was intentional or a slip of the tongue, but I do not need to know. The facts are that in one fell swoop, the council had poisoned nearly us all with the wretched verbena and imprisoned us in the local chapel, set to incinerate. If I had not resurfaced from the opiate effects of the herb when I had and charmed my way out by a young guard, who just happened to be a sympathizer willing to do anything in order to become one of the immortal, I would have perished with the rest of my coven. I am just heartbroken that I had to leave Pearl and the others behind, but there was not enough time._

_I am ashamed to admit that the fear had propelled me, stripping away any chance I might have had of saving even one of my brethren if I had tried._

_That was just last night. I had hidden in the hills of the forest as I watched the chapel burn. It was nearly dawn before I could will myself to return to the Salvatore plantation. The wisest move would have been to just leave that moment, but I had to risk it. I couldn't put this town behind me until I had seen my boys once more for myself. They may have brought this on us all, but they did try to protect me. When the townspeople had me caged and transferring to the church, my boys came to save me. Maybe it was betrayer's remorse, maybe it was only that they hadn't intended my death, either way they came for me . . . and they were killed for their trouble. With my own eyes I witnessed them shot to death, one after the other. I was taken away as they lay dying in the street._

_That at the very least earned them a final goodbye._

_I returned to the place I had called my home for many treasured months to find Giuseppe and Jonathon Gilbert hauling Damon and Stefan's lifeless bodies into the house. Listening to the gossip of bystanders, I lingered as long as I dared, waiting for them to wake._

_You see, I cannot say at the moment whether their deaths will be final or if there is a chance that they may rise from their demise as vampires, because for the life of me I cannot recall our last lovemaking. It was almost every night that we three exchanged blood. I knew the day would come that we would have to escape Mystic Falls in a hurry. But these last few nights, the boys have been distracted, worried, their minds on something else. So I cannot say how much of my potent blood lingers in their systems now._

_And I cannot claim to care. The Salvatore brothers will be left to their fates, one way or the other. It __must__ not matter to me any longer._

_It is not that this was unexpected. Logically, I knew this would happen given time. But I had not contemplated how much this would hurt. I am in anguish. And now I must go, leaving behind every one I care for._

_I feel a sickness, a bitter taste in my mouth and a stifling pressure weighing on my chest. As if my body has suddenly become too confining, as if I am imprisoned in a cage that is rapidly shrinking in on me, ready to crush me into the ash I should be by now. I have never felt so . . . broken. Not since my turning._

_How did the world shift so suddenly? How is it that I am left standing here? Utterly alone in the world and uncharacteristically devastated because of it, when not even 48 hours ago I was the happiest I have ever been._

_Even composing this entry has given me no ease. The woods are blanketed with slush that foretells of snow and freezing temperatures, and I have a long ways to journey. Where I will go is of no concern to you, because this is my last letter, dear diary. You contain too many secrets. I must burn you in my campfire before the flame dwindles completely. Then I must be on my way._

_One thing is for certain, though. I have learned my lesson. Love is for fools. Sentimentality is the greatest weakness there is, and surely one I can no longer afford to indulge._

_Perhaps I will seek out my sire. I once said Sinclair was a monster for what he'd done to me. But the truth is that in the light of day I would rather return to my maker's undying loyalty than suffer this way even once more in my endless lifetime. Who knows? It is possible that I may return home to find that I belong now as I never had before. Last night changed me, I see that now._

_My last words for you, darling?_

_I will never return to Mystic Falls. It has seen both my rise and my downfall, and I want nothing more than to forget it was ever a part of me._

_Too bad this place has already stolen a piece of my soul._

_Farewell. _

-Katherine Evelyn Pierce

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elena woke up in a strange bed, wearing an indigo-blue man's dress shirt that fell to her thighs and swallowed her whole. Beneath, she had on a pair of white cotton boxers that she'd never seen before. The waistband was rolled up like crazy and even still the boxers hung precariously low-and-loose on her nonexistent hips.

Well, her hips _used_ to be nonexistent. Wiggling around in these foreign clothes for the first time Elena was beginning to take notice of the subtle changes in her body. With a peculiar scrunch to her face, she crawled off the ironwork sleigh bed and made her way toward the antique armoire in the corner of the room. Hung on the inside of the wardrobe's door was a full-length mirror with a rich border of decorative woodwork.

After the initial cringe at the unruly state of her hair, Elena lifted the baggy button-down and twisted and turned, examining herself. There was more of her all of a sudden. Last month she'd been birdlike slender, even with the muscles she'd honed over the years with gymnastics and dance. Not that she worked to have that frame; it was just the body she was born with. Yes, she'd lost a little weight she couldn't afford to lose after the accident, but she'd started gaining that back. Now, though, her structure seemed to be shifting. Barely there curves were beginning to fill out, delicate limbs were on the way to substance.

Was this the wolf's doing? Making her as sleek and dangerous looking in human form as she was in animal?

Elena nudged at that sedated presence in her mind, ready for answers, but sister wolf remained unresponsive. She wasn't in slumber, though. She was acutely alert. Meaning she was intentionally ignoring Elena.

"Fine then," she huffed. "Be that way." Elena shut the armoire's door and padded toward an open doorway that she could see led to a bathroom, struggling to stuff down the slight irritation that arose. From the sounds outside, it was morning. By the digital clock on the bedside, she was late for school.

In a hurry, Elena used some mouthwash she found in a bathroom cupboard to clean out the fuzzy taste of morning from her mouth. She washed her face, scrubbing the stickiness of sleep from her eyelashes and found herself a makeshift band for her hair. The only brush she could find was one of those soft-bristled ones they hardly made nowadays, because the only good they did was making smooth hair glossy. It'd be useless on her crimpy snarls, so she didn't even bother. And the comb lying beside the sink wouldn't get her anywhere unless she took a shower and used conditioner first, which she didn't have the time for. Ultimately, she settled for corralling the tangled mane into a hobo braid—a hairstyle that managed to make it seem as if her messy look was intentional and, dare she think it, chic. Yeah, yeah, a fool's dream, but it would do. Besides, who was she trying to impress?

Leaving the bathroom behind in resignation, she went back to the armoire and shuffled through it. Slacks, khakis, jeans of varying shade, material, and cut—but there was nothing that wouldn't end up around her ankles, and she refused to do the belt thing. It'd make her look ridiculous and she'd be stumbling all day. She'd have rather stuck with the boxers than resorted to that embarrassment. So she backed away from the wardrobe in defeat.

Decency wise, the shirt was as good as a mini-dress, though the absence of a bra made her antsy. But it would suffice, at least for getting home to change, and she had to get going. Only, she found herself freezing at the door. She knew where she was—the boarding house. She recognized the décor and architecture. She'd just never seen this room before and she couldn't remember how she'd gotten here. Not knowing the situation put her at a noticeable disadvantage and that rubbed her the wrong way, though she had no idea why this was so important.

Shutting her eyes and taking in a deep breath to steady herself, Elena concentrated. Outside the unfamiliar bedroom, the wide corridor was empty. But her ears were pricking at the sound of voices down below her. Words were muffled, but that didn't matter, she recognized both men almost instantly. Now she understood why the wolf was being pissy. That Nicholas guy was back.

_Great_, she thought dryly. What a perfect scenario to wake to. Then again, at least his presence would keep her from doing an inadvertent walk of shame. She couldn't have that. After all, she had nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. She'd made her decision last night and she was going to stick to it with her head held high. This was just the way things were for now. No use making a fuss about it, she told herself. To which she received an unhappy rumble from the wolf in her head. Yeah, that whole territorial streak thing was going to be a bitch to deal with. But she'd handled worse. _And I'm going to be late_.

Elena rolled up her sleeves—literally, because they were hanging down over her hands—and made her way downstairs with confident strides.

"I have trouble believing you're serious." Damon's soaked-in-sarcasm voice filled her senses and made her nerves prick to attention. She slowed in the first-story main corridor when the bastard that tried to kill her came into view. Through an archway she could see him meandering through the great room, going from window to window, shadow to light, while he played with the lapis lazuli ring he wore on his thumb. When he crossed daylight, the golden touch of sun played honey hues through his sandy-blonde hair, which was combed back neatly. He was in a pristine white button-down shirt and black trousers with shiny oxfords. He looked like an afterhours businessman, slick and handsome and at ease and totally respectable—not at all like he'd tried to rip her throat out just the other day.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Nicolas asked with an airy shrug of his shoulders. "I mean, of course I'll have to make you suffer."

"Of course," Damon drawled. He was rich with sardonic humor that made her frown. He didn't seem angry or aggressive at all, even beneath the lazy veneer. In fact, he was . . . relaxed. That chafed at her.

"But excluding that, I am completely serious. Emotions were all running livid the other night, understandably so what with your little wild one projecting all of her instability. And Grace is right—there's no need for this to carry on any longer as such a big deal. I shouldn't have expected that sort of loyalty from you in the first place."

"Maybe," Damon added mildly. "Or maybe it was simply that you didn't have to act like such a drama queen about it. I was only trying to help the little witch out."

Nicholas whirled toward an area of the room she couldn't see, bringing him in her general direction, and Elena unconsciously took a step back. "You're suggesting you were doing her a favor?" he asked tersely.

Elena inched to the side, intending to bypass the archway and get to the door. She didn't have time to spy. But the move brought Damon into her line of sight and she hesitated when she saw him shrug and cast his gaze toward the window he was leaning in. He was shirtless and barefoot in nothing but a pair of loose jeans, and the sunlight made his alabaster pallor look unnatural. "She had an agenda that I didn't disagree with. She made a good point. Why shouldn't I have helped her when all it entailed was having a good time?"

"_Why you_—"

"You can't expect a fiery one like that to put up with your double-standard, Nic."

At that, Nicholas visibly deflated. "No, I suppose I can't. Still—"

"You're obligated to make me suffer," Damon finished quickly in a bored tone. "Yes, you've made that clear. And go right on ahead, old friend. I've got some downtime at the moment."

"Oh, no, Salvatore." Nicholas paused to chuckle. "You can't expect it to be that easy. I only played along with your little ruse because you were busy contending with that transitioning lupine. Now that that's settled down, I fully intend to take my time with this."

"By all means, then, have at it." Damon gave him a sloppy salute on his way to the drink cart.

Elena shook her head, hedged her way down the corridor, and got about three paces before the front door swung open and a bouncy redhead strolled in, an easy smile on her cherry lips, bringing Elena up short.

"Grace," Damon greeted, tipping his glass to her before taking a sip.

The redhead spared him a perfunctory nod before her jade-green gaze focused on the girl. "Grace Harper," she said, offering her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Elena."

"How do you know my name?" Elena narrowed her eyes at the older woman, tipping her head to one side as she eyed her warily.

"It's a gift." Grace shrugged it off, retracting her hand, and then shot an irritated glance at the vampires through the archway. "I heard about Thursday night. You'll have to excuse Nico."

"Yes," Nicholas cut in, his eyes on Elena, his demeanor easy. "Forgive me. I wasn't prepared to come across a burgeoning lupa. I got out of hand. It won't happen again, I assure you."

Elena just gave him an icy look, not even giving him the satisfaction of a glare. He was apologizing for almost killing her the same way he would for giving bad directions. And she wasn't buying it.

"Yep," Damon drawled. "You look downright _racked_ with guilt." His eyes rolled up and down Nicholas then cut across the room to Elena when she rounded Grace and sauntered for the door. "Where're you going?"

"Away," she answered with her back to him a second before the front door slammed behind her.

"Well, if you'll excuse me," Grace muttered to no one in particular. She turned and followed casually after Elena, catching up to her just as the teenager was climbing into her silver Escape. "Hey," she said, catching the driver's door before it could close.

Elena gave her a frazzled glance and fell back against the leather of the bucket seat. "Yes?"

"Are you okay?"

"Peachy keen," she chirped, making the witch chuckle. "Look, I've got school. And I'm really not interested. So—"

"Right, I'll just get out of your hair." Grace held her hands up in an "I Give" gesture as she backed away, smiling pleasantly.

Elena hesitated, watching as the woman turned and made her way back into the house. There was something odd about the redhead, a presence that threatened to set Elena at ease. And she didn't want that. She just wanted to get out of here and get some time to breathe.

Unfortunately, life had other plans. She'd barely gotten her Ford around the bright blue Prius that was parked in the driveway when music resounded through the interior of the car at a deafening volume, grinding against the sensitivity of her ears and echoing through the hollows of her head with sharp pangs.

"'_I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallowed ground,'"_ a falsetto voice bellowed, decidedly feminine and packing a passionate punch.

Clutching at her ears, Elena pressed her foot down on the brake with a sharp jerk. "Jeremy," she growled, fumbling for the cell she'd left plugged into the car's charger last night.

"'_Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins. I want to find you, tear out all of your tenderness, and howl, howl, howl, howl!'"_

"Very hilarious little brother," she groused, then took a breath and brought the phone to her ear. "Yes?"

"Elena."

"Bonnie?" She sunk back in her seat with a heavy sigh at the grave tone of her friend's voice. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I just talked to Caroline . . ."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stefan had just gotten into town to find that Baton Rouge was in roughly ten times worse shape than it'd been the last time he was here, which had to have been at least a decade ago.

He eased through the center of the west parish and out past the city limits, turned off onto a narrow gravel road and navigated through the overgrown underbrush, cringing now and again as the scrap of branch and rock mangled the chrome's paint job of his black Porsche.

Three and a quarter miles deep into the backwoods of Louisiana, the gravel widened and the Porsche came out into 3 acres of clearing. Dead in the center of a field of wild grass was Malone Manor, an extravagantly post-modern plantation house turned gothic.

All four stories of the snow-white weatherboarding had been painted obsidian. The second and fourth story windows had been boarded up, while most of the shutters were hanging crooked, off their hinges. The wrought-iron gate that wrapped around the widow's walk on the roof was slanted outward, as if it might collapse at any moment. And the woodwork of the wraparound veranda was rotting.

Stefan climbed out of the car and took a good look, shaking his head. Lexi would burst into tears if she saw her family home looking this way, utterly ravaged. Guess it was a good thing she hadn't been back here since the 90's. _Not_ such a good thing that she never would. But at least there were some small mercies in life. Regardless, Skyler should be taking better care of this place. Lexi left it to her because she thought her home would be in good hands.

Obviously, that wasn't the case.

There were no cars around in sight, but there was a broken-down barn toward the back of the house that was sometimes used as a garage. The inside of the house seemed still, but it was hard to tell. Reaching out with his senses as he started for the veranda, Stefan came across a myriad of unsettling things. Confused, wary, suspicious, he stopped just short of the rickety porch steps and looked up at the stained-glass windowpane of the front door, trying to see beyond the barrier.

This wasn't right. There was a sense of illness coming from inside that house. No, not illness . . . _sickness_, and it seemed to have seeped into the walls until the house itself was radiating the presence of wrongness. Warning bells were going off in his head, telling him to get away. But this was Lexi's _home_. This was Skyler. He couldn't leave until he uncovered what was happening here.

Still, as hard as he tried, he just couldn't force himself to venture any closer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elena left the Escape idling halfway down the driveway as she leapt from the car and stormed back into the house. She found the three of them still lounging in the great room, and the second she stepped through the archway, she crossed to Damon and swung with all her might. She put all of her anger into that one move and felt it echo through them both when her fist collided with his jaw. The glass in his hand slipped, shattering against the hardwood and spraying shards of crystal and drops of brandy over their legs as he stumbled backward at the force of her punch. His back smacked into the frame of the window, preventing him from going down.

"You son of a bitch!" she thundered.

Damon looked up, still sprawled gracelessly against the windowsill, and blinked at her, rubbing his jaw confoundedly.

The silence that followed was deafening, until a low whistle chased it away. "_Well_," Grace noted from her spot in a leather reading chair across the room. "You sure pissed her off."

"Get out," he told them brusquely, his eyes never leaving Elena's. "Now."

"Nah." Nicholas chuckled. "I think we'll—"

"—be giving them their privacy, Nicholas." Grace swung up to her feet and grabbed her mate by the arm, dragging him with her. "C'mon, help me bring me duffel in from the car."

Startled, Damon glanced up at her, breaking his and Elena's stare-down with an arched brow. "Come again?"

Grace spun and sent him a cheeky grin as she walked backwards out of the room. "Well, you can't seriously expect me to stay in that ratty motel, can you?"

Before he could tell her to fuck off, she was gone. And he was left with a dangerously enraged Elena, who was so upset that she was literally trembling. Pushing the wariness that rippled through him to the side, Damon came to his feet and straightened himself, careful to not meet her eye again. "Want to tell me what that was all about?"

A sharp burst of a bitter laugh escaped her then, and he couldn't stop himself from looking up at the watery sound of her voice. "I keep forgetting what a heartless bastard you are." When her fist furled again, she spun on her heel and faced the wall, taking in a deep breath to steady herself. "I can't believe you would do something like this, though I have no idea why because it's certainly less horrendous than some of the other things you've done since I've known you."

Something unnerving slithered through him. He found himself stepping toward her, but the second he moved, she rounded on him with fire and hatred in her eyes. Her body was shaking and tears were streaming down her face, being torn apart between the twin emotions of fury and hurt. Which impulse would win out was something neither of them knew.

"Elena," he bit out impatiently. "What exactly is this in regards to?"

"You," she spat venomously, advancing on him with the eyes of a righteous predator. "You raped Caroline."

That raised his eyebrows, even as he gave ground. "Who gave you that idea?"

Elena's hands came up quicker than lightning and knocked him back into the wall with so much force the paneling cracked. "You sent him after her. There's no difference."

And then it clicked. _Fuck_, he thought with feeling. "All right, listen—" He tried to step to her and got knocked back into the wall. "You don't know the whole story," he told her through clenched teeth.

"The hell I don't," she spat back at him. "It's not that hard to figure out. I don't need you to explain it to me. And I sure as hell don't want to hear your excuses."

"Not excuses," he snapped. "Motives. And if you expect me to ask for forgiveness or something then you're barking up the wrong tree, princess."

An inscrutable look flickered through her fiery eyes. And in an entirely too calm voice, she said, "Right, because you don't do remorse."

Tired of the tug-of-war, he shoved away from the wall and brought himself up against her, towering over her. "I did what I had to."

She only lifted her chin and looked at him with eyes shining of something akin to disappointment. That didn't set right, not at all. In fact, that look made his skin crawl unbearably.

"No," she said, half quiet sadness, half resigned anger. "You did what best suited you with no thought to anyone else, like you always do, you self-serving psychopath." Then she took a measured step backward, putting distance between them rather than backing down, as if she couldn't stand to be near him anymore.

Damon didn't exactly understand just what was happening. All he knew was that he _really_ hated it. She looked at him like he'd let her down, like he'd betrayed her, and that unfurled a lash of anger inside of him for so many different reasons. Before he could think better of it, he found himself blurring the space between them and latching onto her arms with enough force to break bone. He forced her backward until they slammed into the outer wall together.

Elena bared her gritted teeth and met his smoldering eyes with unflinching obstinacy. "Get off of me."

He frowned down at her, and a muscle in his jaw jumped as he locked it against the baser impulses he was experiencing. "I did what I had to," he reiterated fiercely, nearly yelling she had him so worked up. He jerked her forward only to push her back into the wall again, rattling her bones. "Would you have rather it been you?"

"Yes!" she screamed, lashing out at him with both hands and a hell of a lot of power. She fell back against the wall as he crashed into a bookcase across the room, sending hardbacks and figurines clattering down to the floor on top of him. "Yes, I would have rather dealt with it myself than have my friend suffer. I knew exactly what I was getting into every time I let you and your brother back into my life. Caroline had nothing to do with this."

"She wasn't hurt," he groused, picking himself up off the floor. "She was under compulsion. She thought she wanted it the whole time."

"A lot of good that does her now," Elena hissed. "Now that she feels used up and debased." She stopped herself sharply, sucked in a shuddery breath, and scrubbed her hands over her face with a weariness that went soul deep. "God, how could you do this?"

Damon sneered, making his way toward her again. "You know who I am, Elena. Don't delude yourself. You knew exactly who and what I was every single time you let me touch you." He boxed her in against the wall, hands on either side of her head, a fervent intensity burning inside of him that scalded her skin and forced her to turn her face away and screw her eyes shut. "Act as righteous as you want, little girl . . . we both know the truth."

"Oh?" she bit back, her eyes still closed, face still averted, cheek brushing against his caging arm.

He leaned in and dragged his nose up the curve of her neck and into her upswept hair. "You know what I am, what I've done, and however you feel about it makes no difference. You're in love with me."

"You think that's important?" she challenged defiantly, finally turning to face him. "You think that matters with something like this?" She licked her lips and softly but firmly forced him back with a hand splayed against his bare chest. Shivers ran up her arms as desire was elicited. He smirked. But it only proved her point. "I'm not controlled by my body, Damon. Or my heart. And if you think I can bring myself to stand you right now, in love or not, than you obviously know _nothing_ about me."

Aggravated, he wrapped his hand around the wrist at his chest and forced her around in a sudden twirling motion that brought them through the archway and into the deserted corridor. Smoothly, he pinned her up against the wall of the staircase with the immovable length of his body. "Okay," he said with a quiet sigh of defeat, their eyes locking. "What would you like me to do, Elena?"

Shock rippled through her, but she shook it off as quickly as it'd come. "Fix it," she told him. "I don't care how. Just fix it."

Damon searched her eyes for a long moment, his expression giving nothing away. Then he released her and took a step back with a curt nod. "Consider it done."

She straightened herself out, tucking fallen hair behind her ear. She squared her shoulders and met his stare with a lifted chin and a frown. "If you're expecting me to thank you—"

He held up a hand to stop her, looking pained. "Please. Don't make me change my mind."

"Fine," she said, and started for the door.

Damon looked put-upon as he watched her go. "I'll see you later."

"Maybe," she murmured. And suddenly he was standing in front of her, blocking the door. She bristled. "What?"

"And that's supposed to mean what?" he wanted to know, crossing his arms.

Elena huffed and skirted around him determinedly. "It means _maybe_, because right now I can't even look at you without feeling sick to my stomach."

The door swung shut between them and all Damon could do was stare. It wasn't the way she left that floored him, rather the state she'd put him in first. How in the world was he supposed to deal with her? She was driving him _insane_. She was making him . . . making things important when nothing should matter.

And now he had a headache.

"See," Nicholas drawled from the stairwell. "What did I say? A damn handful."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jeremy had just gotten off the bus and was making his way into the main building of school when his phone went off in his hip-pocket. "Yellow?"

"You think you're real funny with that ringtone, don't you?" his sister's wry voice drawled from the other line, making him grin.

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"You know what they say about payback, don't you?"

"I do," he chuckled, earning a small harrumph from her.

"Anyway—cover for me, will you? I'm going to be late for first period."

"What do I get for it?"

"_Not_ smacked upside the head the next time I see you, how's that?"

"Sounds good to me," he decided, then flipped his phone shut and turned it on vibrate for the school day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elena was gathering her things from a picnic table in the quad, ready to head back inside at the sound of the warning bell echoing through the schoolyard. Bonnie was at her side. She was still churning about what happened this morning.

All through lunch she'd shoveled food into her mouth to avoid answering her best friend's incessant interrogating. She didn't have any answers for her, only that he'd promised to make things right. Bonnie argued that, short of time travel, that wasn't possible. And Elena agreed. But if Damon said he'd fix it, than he'd find a way. She had at least that much faith in him.

That was one thing about Damon Salvatore. When he decided to do something, nothing in the world would keep him from it.

Still, nothing was going to take back what Caroline went through, but maybe—just maybe—the effects of it could be erased. She hoped so. God, did she hope so. Caroline may be catty and a bit superficial, but she was not only a real person, she was a fragile one. And she didn't deserve this. To be used in such a way just to make life easier for Damon and for Elena herself was something she couldn't stomach.

Bonnie knew as well as Elena what really happened and who was behind it. Elena could see that it was killing the young witch, not being able to give Caroline the answers she'd begged for barely a few hours earlier, nearly sobbing she was so broken. She'd confessed what she'd done to Matt and he'd been unable to look at her, because she didn't have an explanation. All she knew was that she'd slept with a total stranger—let him do things to her, let him hurt her—and she had no idea why. She knew it wasn't what she'd wanted. She knew she _felt_ violated, and even worse than if she'd actually fought him was the knowledge that she'd serenely allowed it.

It was something that Elena could understand all too perfectly, though she had no idea why this would hit home so precisely. After all, she'd never been in that position before, had she? Surely not, she'd remember if she'd ever been raped. _Then again . . . isn't that the problem with Caroline? _a little voice in the back of her mind whispered, drawing out insidious thoughts. If she'd been compelled, she wouldn't know. But—

_No, stop. You're just being paranoid_, sister wolf insisted. _Don't work yourself up. This isn't about us._

_Right_, Elena thought decidedly, shoving that line of thought away. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that this situation hit her a little too personally.

And now she had to suffer through Bonnie's judgmental eyes. _How could you have fallen for him? After all he's done—to you, to me, to everyone. I just don't understand_, Bonnie's furtive little glances were telling her. And Elena had no defense, no justification, no answer. She'd been hoping . . . God, she didn't even know. It wasn't like she thought she could change him. But over the last few months, she's seen a lot of different sides to Damon. She's seen him grow, even if it was incrementally. It gave her hope that maybe he wasn't all bad. Maybe there was a reason she'd fallen in love with him, one that would actually make sense.

Most of the time, she believed that she understood Damon. To a certain point, anyway. He was complicated—seriously convoluted, at times infuriating—but not a _complete_ mystery. Despite him doing everything in his power to prove differently, he did have a heart, and she had a feeling that he felt things more fiercely than the rest of the world. She knew—she _knew_—that there was good in him. Deep, deep, deep down there somewhere, beneath all of those jaded layers of apathetic sarcasm and sociopathic hedonism. She knew his narcissism wasn't genuine. But he liked to disaffect everyone around him. Or maybe it was that he _needed_ to in order to avoid weakness. Yes, she liked to think that she understood Damon Salvatore, somewhat. But lately, she had no freaking clue about him. And it was driving her crazy.

And there were parts of him—aspects, actions he took, sins he committed—that she wasn't sure she could handle. After all, standing by while a predator creates victims—a murderer kills, a rapist rapes, a thief steals—makes you no better than the monster. Could she really do that? Could she stand idly by?

_No_. And just because it doesn't happen in front of her face doesn't mean it isn't happening. She couldn't excuse herself with ignorance or denial any longer. This thing with Caroline was the last straw. Of course, she wouldn't go back on her promise. She'd help Damon get his _true love_ back—feel the bitter sarcasm radiating through _that_ thought—and she couldn't just flip a switch and stop caring about him. She didn't think she'd be able to stay away, even if she wanted to, even if she tried to. But she couldn't plead the fifth anymore either. Things were going to have to change. She'd have to _make_ them change.

Not that she really thought she could, but when it was all over and she was lying in bed at night by her lonesome she could comfort herself by honestly believing that she had done her best. And that's all anyone can ever do.

"Look," Bonnie cut into her resolving thoughts, nudging Elena with her shoulder as they walked side by side across the sunny quad. "I guess you were right."

Elena followed her friend's gaze to a black tupelo that was dripping with burnt orange leaves. Beneath the old tree was a shock of fair blonde hair and a beautiful smile. Caroline. The blonde girl's face went from mild to lit-up in the blink of an eye and a moment later Elena saw why. A honey-haired hunky boy in a letterman's jacket was making his way to her. Caroline hopped to her feet with the prance of a giddy schoolgirl and locked her hands behind her back, smiling slyly as he neared. When he finally reached her, they embraced without a second of hesitation. The kiss that followed was languid and sweet, speaking of carefree crushes and blooming affection. Simple. Bright. Warm.

"Thank God," Elena whispered, stopping to watch them while Bonnie left her behind to make her way inside the building. She was frozen there on the spot still when the two blondes broke apart and hurried inside. Elena took a deep breath and caught the tip of her messy braid between her fingers.

It didn't absolve anything. It didn't all of a sudden make everything right. What happened still happened. She knew that. But maybe, just this once, forgetting was actually better than forgiving.

Elena turned to follow after them when her gaze caught on a branch of the black tupelo. Perched high up above was a sleek ebony crow, who was watching her.

_I'm still mad at you_, she thought. _I'm still disappointed. But you did the right thing. Thank you._

She gave him a smile. It was small, but it was genuine, and it was the best he'd get for now. Then she turned around and headed back inside, not even minding as the tardy bell went off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Life's a Bed of Thorns~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stefan crashed into awareness at the sound of utter silence, the sense of evil, and the unmistakable scent of death. He'd not taken more than a step over the threshold of the old manor before the darkness had swept in and stolen him away. He'd never felt anything like it, never been so overcome in all of his hundred and sixty plus years, and it had him thoroughly spooked.

Waking, there were several things to take into immediate account. One: that he was lying on a cement floor, gritty and dank and damp. Two: that the small windowless room around him had death clinging to the gray walls, both fresh and ancient. The intense spectral remnants of blood made his hunger threaten to rise. Three: he was severely weakened. The pulse of energy draining from him made it hard to think straight. It reminded him of the sensation of being poisoned, only if there were vervain coursing through his bloodstream, he would feel its burn.

No, this was something else. It was as if his strength was literally being sucked away into a black hole.

"_Finally_," an unfamiliar voice purred, full of femininity and knife-like meticulousness. It echoed off the walls, seemingly coming from no specific direction, ringing through his clouded head. "I thought you'd never come back."

Somehow, he managed to muster enough strength to roll onto his stomach, but when he pressed his hands into the sandpaper of the cement and tried to push up, there was nothing. "Who are you?" he asked, fighting to force his eyelids open.

A pair of glittery hot-pink stilettos came into view and Stefan focused on the gladiator straps that wrapped over the delicate sun-kissed feet, the toenails perfectly pedicure-ridden. An emaciated young woman crouched down in front of him. Vivid auburn hair that hung in mega-long ropes down to her hips scraped along the floor, catching him on the cheek. She twitched her glossy lips at him and blinked unnaturally long eyelashes. "Don't tell me you don't recognize me?"

Stefan felt sick. "Skyler," he dragged out, furling his hands against the cement.

She clapped her hands together. "Ding, ding, ding! What do you know? He hasn't totally forgotten about me." Her smile died on her lips and the light seemed to fade from her oval face like it'd never been there to begin with. She pivoted forward like an agile cat and landed on her hands and stilettos beside him, cocking and dipping her head until she had their faces almost level, almost parallel, all too near. "It's a good thing, too, Mr. Salvatore . . . because _I_ remember _you_."

Stefan couldn't control the shudder that ran through him as her voice seemed to skitter across his skin, a tangible touch of soul-sucking energy. The girl had been ten the last time he saw her, just a little thing with a ratty ponytail and a sunflower Sunday dress with mud dried across her cheek. Now, he could feel the wrongness emanating from her, and he knew without a doubt that the only thing in the entire world Lexi had ever feared had been substantiated.

The magic that Skyler Malone had been born with brewing inside of her hadn't remained repressed as Lexi had hoped, as she'd struggled for, no. It had awoken. And the girl couldn't handle it. She'd obviously let it eat away at her. He knew because he could sense it. He could feel that twisted remnant of the girl's soul that lingered. That sense of death hadn't just been ingrained in the house. It clung to the girl's skin, coming from her, seeping out from her to infect everything in her radius.

That sense of surrounding death he'd been feeling since he arrived was suddenly all too clear, as was the life force being stolen from him—something that would have killed a human, only instead was keeping him powerless and on the brink of it. It was her, the necromancer.

Swallowing back the uprising of turmoil—most predominantly panic—that threatened to overwhelm him, Stefan managed to find his voice again. "What have you been doing, Skyler?"

The girl pulled away and let out an honest to God giggle at that, cupping a dainty hand over her chin. The overgrown fingernails were polished a ghostly shade of ivory. "Let's see, what have I been doing? Where to start? Hmm . . ." She tapped one of those ghostly nails against her pursed lips as she toyed with him. "Oh, I know. How about we start with this—" The life left her sapphire eyes and what stirred there had him genuinely afraid. "—I know what you've done, Mr. Salvatore. I know what has happened to my mother and I know why. I know _everything_," she purred. "And I promise you this . . . by the time I am finished with you, you will wish I had killed you in this moment. You will _beg_ me to bring you into the daylight, because by then the burn of fire will be your only salvation."

Skyler smiled something sickly sweet, and the last thing Stefan felt before the darkness swallowed him whole again was the cold touch of her jagged nail tracing a gentle line down his cheek and across his lips.

"_Enjoy the peace while it lasts, sweet Mister Salvatore_."

* * *

**_Finis_**


End file.
